The Game of Queens
by Celina Corey
Summary: The marriage of Henry and Anne is annulled the day after her trial, a mere three days before her execution. The people, realising that she can't have committed adultery if she was never married, rally to protect Anne, who becomes The Marquess of Pembroke.
1. A Night of Love Rekindled

**Author's Note:** This is in a response to _The Marquess of Pembroke Challenge_ by CordeliaHalliwell of The Tudors Fanfic Forum. Normally, I completely plan out my stories and at least write the majority of them before I begin posting them, but something possessed me to do things differently this time. I do hope you enjoy this, and - of course - reviews are most welcome!

Oh, and this chapter does hint at some mature content, but does not go into explicit detail. I'm also assuming that Anne's stillborn son was born on January 27, 1536, which I believe is the historical date.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of _The Tudors_ content in this story; all rights belong to Showtime.

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><p><strong>Prologue:<br>**"_A Night of Love Rekindled_"

_March 3, 1536_

It was understandably difficult when she lost her second child.

There appeared to be no cause, nothing which sparked her baby to flee from her womb so far before its time that it could not live. Henry, though he did not dare voice it to her, blamed Anne, but tried to give her a slight amount of consolation, the only consolation he could give her.

_She was laying in her bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets and staring hard at nothing in a feeble attempt to erase the day's horrors - the fact that she had lost her baby from her mind, when he entered. He walked cautiously by her ladies, not bothering to acknowledge their courteous honorifics and curtsies. When he entered her bedchamber, Madge, who'd been sitting on the bed attempting to comfort Anne, quickly stood and exited the room, giving the King and Queen as much privacy as possible. Henry stopped at the foot of Anne's bed, glancing down at his wife, completely at a loss of what to say._

_His experience with Katherine had taught him that women would be delicate after the loss of a child and, while he wished to console Anne - his true and wedded wife, unlike what Katherine had been - he could not find the right words. He was angry. He had been disappointed too many times to be able to think clearly and speak eloquently at such a time, despite his excess of experience. Anne was fragile and he did not wish to upset her more than she already was, but a part of him wanted so desperately to scream at her, to berate her for killing his son._

_Not wanting to say something he would later regret, he settled for silence._

_Henry's silence unnerved Anne, and she thought that he might not have been told about the loss of their child. She was frightened, having seen the effects of Henry's anger and knowing that this was one rift that would not solve easily. Henry was an impatient man and, after suffering miscarriage after miscarriage with his first wife - though she could not really be called a wife - it was likely that he would not be forgiving of Anne for this unfortunate happenstance._

"_I lost the baby," she finally said, her voice hoarse from crying, rationalising that if he did not know it would be best if he heard it from her. She did not even look at him, she couldn't. She was too afraid of the emotions she might find etched into his features._

"_Yes," he replied, sounding briefly annoyed, and then he continued almost bluntly, "They told me."_

_Anne did not know who he meant. 'They' could mean many people. It could mean her father, uncle, or her brother. It could mean the Royal Physician, Dr. Linacre, or even Master Cromwell. She supposed it didn't really matter who had told him, only that he knew and, for the moment, was not yelling at her._

_He was silent for a few seconds, apparently racking his mind for something to say, before he added, "We shall make no public announcement of the fact."_

"_No," she agreed, glad that he had allowed her this concession, though she knew he had probably done so more for himself than for her._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him attempt to smile, before he turned around to leave her._

_Feeling the need to say more, and perhaps she was hoping that if she said something he would stay and take her in his arms, promising her that he did not blame her and that sometimes unfortunate events such as this just happen, she said quietly, "Thank you, Your Majesty."_

_He stopped and merely inclined his head back toward her, nodding slightly before continuing out the door. Anne hoped that his demeanor was from a lack of knowing what to say, rather than a lack of love for her._

Her father, of course, barely attempting to conceal his anger for her benefit did not waste much time in berating her for the loss of her child, which he had viewed as more of a pawn for the betterment of his stature than an innocent child of his own flesh and blood.

"_What caused it?"_

_His worry was evident in his features when he spoke, his words almost hastened as if he feared he did not have much time to speak them. Anne could only wonder what he was afraid would happen._

"_There was nothing," Anne replied, nearly pleading with him to believe her. He _had_ to believe her. She would have done nothing that would have harmed her child._

"_Of course there was something!" he shouted, all attempts to conceal his anger gone and his fear showing itself in its entirety. "What did you do to kill the baby?"_

"_I didn't," she responded, growing offended that he would believe that she would do something to harm her baby. She would never have done anything of the sort, so this could not possibly be her fault. Could it? "I don't know. Believe me, Father, I was so careful."_

_Anne racked her brains, trying to pinpoint a likely cause to her miscarriage. She went through all of the events that had happened since she learned she was pregnant, remembering almost instantly how worried she had been that Henry would take a mistress, as he had when she carried Elizabeth. She had contented herself, partly, by setting Madge, someone of her own kin and who could be trusted to not lead the King too far astray, as Henry's mistress, but that did not make her any happier. But what woman would be happy with her husband taking mistresses?_

_Had her worry caused her to lose the baby?_

"_Not careful enough."_

_Her father's voice interrupted her thoughts and snapped her back to reality. It didn't matter now what had caused the miscarriage. Now, she needed to focus on keeping the King's good favour and presenting him with a son as soon as possible. A son, after all, would secure the position of herself and, undoubtedly to her father's immense pleasure, that of her family, as well._

_He moved to lean on her bedpost, as if he needed support while he thought out a way to survive this catastrophe, "Well, from now on, we must all be careful - you especially - not to lose the King's love, or everything is lost. Everything." he emphasised, a great amount of spite seeping into his voice. "For all of us!"_

_And then he marched out of her room, not caring about the state he left his daughter in._

As painful as the loss of her second child was, it could in no way compare to the loss of her son - as she had been told the stillborn baby she'd born was, nor could it serve as preparation for the troubles to come. Henry had strayed farther than he ever had before, falling for a pallid mouse who, it was whispered at Court, would become the next wife of King Henry VIII and the next Queen Consort of England if Anne failed to give the King a son. The feat had been proven possible by Henry and Anne when he annulled his incestuous marriage to Katherine, but the scenarios were undeniably different. He couldn't possibly divorce his _true_ wife; certainly God would not allow it.

While Anne had heard the rumours of Henry's relationship with Mistress Jane Seymour, the pallid mouse who presumed to follow Anne's virtuous actions before her marriage to the King in the hopes that they would have the same outcome as they had with Anne, it had come as quite a shock when she walked into Henry's chambers and saw the Wench upon her husband's knee - and kissing him, no less!

The memory, still fresh in mind, never failed to make her heart weep.

_Anne had planned to go to Henry's chambers to request that Elizabeth be brought to Court for the birth of her brother and that she might stay until after her birthday celebrations were over. Because she was with child, Anne could not dare to make the trip to Hatfield to visit her daughter, and surely Elizabeth would wish to see her brother - or little sister, Anne rebelliously allowed herself to concede - when he was born. It would also be fitting for Elizabeth to attend the baptism of the little Prince of Wales. Henry, hopeful for a son and wishing to keep Anne in good spirits - despite his obvious affections for the Seymour Wench - would not deny her._

_She opened the door unannounced, as she was by rights as his wife allowed to do, and the sight that welcomed her was deplorable enough to cause her heart to jump into her throat, restricting her breathing and causing a hoarse cry to erupt from her mouth._

"_Oh, my God!" she cried, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What is this? What is this?"_

_Jane jumped off of Henry's knee, rushing to hide behind the ornate chair where he sat. Anger boiled up within Anne; she'd heard the rumours, that was true, but she had eased her troubled mind that was plagued with vexing thoughts - for the sake of the child she carried - by telling herself that not all things spoken at Court were true. Now, she saw for herself to truth of the rumours which so blatantly expressed the treachery her husband was committing against her. She could not deny that things were not well between them, but she had - foolishly, she admitted with hindsight - thought that he would honour her as his wife for duration of her pregnancy, knowing as well as - perhaps even more than - she did the importance of the child she cradled in her womb._

"_Just when my belly is doing its business," she screamed, swiftly approaching the desk, "I find you wenching with Mistress Seymour!"_

_Henry approached her and attempted to wrap his arms around her shaking body - but she moved out of his reach before he had the chance, his tone surprisingly soothing when he spoke to her, "Hush, sweetheart." And, then he turned to the Wench, his tone commanding, "Jane, you had best leave."_

_Jane did as she was told, leaving through the nearest door. Anne leaned on the table for support, her outburst causing her head to feel dizzy and the outlines of her vision quickly becoming hazy. Henry came up behind Anne and wrapped his arms around her, protectively - though Anne could not be sure if he was trying to protect her, or his son._

"_Why are you doing this?" she asked rhetorically, knowing Henry well enough to know that he would not answer. "Why did you have to do this?"_

_She spun out of his arms and pushed against him, hoping to cause pain so that he might know what it felt like to be the one who was spurned. A slight pain erupted in her lower abdomen, causing her to cry out as she instinctively placed her hand over her womb._

"_Peace," Henry said, his tone growing more impatient as she continued to fight against him._

"_No, no, no, no…" Anne cried when he approached her, catching her tight within his arms. Under other circumstances, she would have loved the sensation, but she could not enjoy the comfort of his arms - not when they had just been wrapped so lovingly around the Seymour Slut._

"_Stop," he commanded her, willing her to calm down. "Stop it! Stop."_

_No longer possessing the strength to fight, she allowed herself to relax into his embrace, one hand intertwined with his over her womb, the other reaching back to feel his face._

That night, she lost her son - the son that would have changed everything. Henry would have loved her again, forgoing the Wench's bed and returning to her as a faithful and loving husband. They - Henry and herself, her family, and all of England - would have celebrated the birth of the long-awaited Prince of Wales. Elizabeth would have had a baby brother to look after and love. Perhaps she could have even taught him some things about life, when they were older. They would have ceased to be on the edge of a golden world, as they would certainly be living it. But, what could have been didn't matter because it never would be.

Henry was far from pleased about the death of his son, the son he had torn his country apart for. And, while he was certainly displeased when she miscarried the first time, his anger was paramount of what it had ever been before. He did not even try to console her.

_He stormed into her chambers, stopping at the foot of the bed as he had when she had miscarried their second child. Anne was crying on her bed, awkwardly kneeling in centre, mourning the death of her son - who had been more than a political or ambitious pawn to her. She had carried the child in her womb for almost four months, long enough for him to be visibly male, and was quite attached to him, as any mother would have been. She attempted, albeit in vain, to calm herself down; weeping would only anger Henry more._

_Henry wasted no time in speaking this time, his tone accusing and full of immense disappointment, "You've lost my boy." Anne did not fail to notice that he apparently had forgotten the son that he had lost had also been her own, and she, despite her best efforts, began to weep silently again. "I cannot speak of it, the loss it too great. But, I see now that God will not grant me _any _male children. When you are up, I will speak with you."_

_He turned around to leave her, but Anne refused to allow him to have the last word, and she would not allow him to pin all of the blame on her, not when it had been the shock of seeing the Seymour Slut on his knee and kissing him that had caused the passion that killed their son._

_It was her turn to have the accusing tone, "It is not all my fault. You have no one to blame but yourself for this. I was distressed to see you with that wench Jane Seymour!"_

_He kicked his leg, as if he were a spoiled young boy being scolded, but Anne continued, relentless, "Because the love I bear you is _so_ great." And then she whispered, so quietly he mightn't have even heard her, "It broke my heart to see you loved others."_

_She could see him trembling, almost weeping and she felt a surge of relief that she had gotten through to him, hopeful that his anger towards her would cool - or, perhaps, turn on the Wench who was the cause of all of their problems._

_He sighed heavily, repeating, "I said I will speak with you when you are well."_

_And then he left, leaving Anne to scream in despair. This time she had not only lost her child, but her husband's love as well._

And so, it had, naturally, come as quite a shock when the King visited the Queen's chambers little more than a month later.

"His Majesty, the King!" Anne's herald called as the door to her chambers opened.

Anne was, despite her joy at seeing her husband, slightly annoyed to see Mistress Seymour's face light up at his arrival. Her ladies, the Wench included, stood, setting down the fabrics they were embroidering and mending, and curtseyed to their King and stated the due honorifics, keeping their places in their curtseys, not allowed to move without the permission of their Sovereign. Henry's eyes briefly met Mistress Seymour's before he turned to his wife.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing to Anne with a flourish of his hand, his voice - though it was only detected by Anne because she had known him for so many years - was slurred slightly.

She rose from her chair by the fire, setting her embroidery down, and curtseyed low, remaining on the floor instead of rising as the Queen was allowed, repeating the same honorific her ladies had, "Your Majesty."

Raising her eyes to meet his, she was pleasantly surprised to see a smile on his face, even if it was likely he was inebriated. Without needing to say a word, he motioned for her ladies to leave them, and Anne noted with triumph the heartbroken look plastered on the Wench's face. Anne briefly wondered if Henry had promised to serve _her_, instead of the Queen, as he had when he was courting Anne. Once all of those in attendance to the Queen had left, he returned his attention to her, observing with disdain that Anne was still in her curtsey.

"Anne," he pleaded, "please stand."

She stood and then he approached her, placing a hand on each of her cheeks before he said, "Anne, you are so beautiful, and I love you so very much - and _I have loved you well and long, delighting in your company_."

She couldn't help but giggle when he quoted the song he wrote for her all those years ago during one of her retreats to Hever, "Then, my love, I am the most happy."

He smile broadly at this, bringing her face closer to his, as if he were about to kiss her, and then suddenly he stopped, a worried look on his face.

"_Alas, my love, you do me wrong to cast me off discourteously_," he recited solemnly, then he asked, "Anne, do you love me?"

"Yes, Henry!" she declared, not missing one heartbeat. "I love you with my entire heart, and I will _always_ continue to love you, even when God calls me home."

The thought of her dying seemed to sadden him, because he responded, "He would have to come through me first, if He wanted you in Heaven. You are my angel, for now, and I intend to keep you that way for many more years - _if_ it pleases Your Majesty?"

"Yes, it pleases me, Henry! I want nothing more than be your love, your wife and bear your children for as long as I live!"

Though he was intoxicated, Anne relished in Henry's words, drawing comfort from that fact that he loved her still. After all, she reasoned, no man could lie when he was filled more than contently with wine, as Henry obviously was.

"Anne? Sweetheart…can I kiss you?"

His words drew her from her quiet musings and, with a giggle, she kissed him, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when his lips responded to hers, brushing chastely against them.

"Elizabeth shall be brought to Court," he broke the kiss briefly to say.

She gave him quick peck on the lips, by way of thanks, before she said, "Oh, thank you, Henry!"

He kissed her again, but with more passion this time, "And you shall have to commission more dresses for her."

"She will enjoy that."

"I want you."

"Henry?" Anne was slightly confused and taken back by the turn of their conversation.

"Yes, Anne?"

"What did you say?"

"I want you," he repeated.

"Now?" she dared to ask, though she knew that was probably the case.

He grabbed her, and kissed her more fervently, slipping his tongue between her lips, and then he pulled away to reply, "Yes. Now."

He pulled her down to the floor, cradling her on his legs before the fire, kissing her seductively, his hand beginning to trail its way up her skirts.

"Henry," she protested, her eyes darting towards her bed in the inner chamber, "the bed - "

He pulled away again and looked at her, a look of mock scolding on his face, "Anne, sweetheart…?"

"Yes, Henry?"

"Shush."

He gave her no chance to respond, kissing her again, and then he took her there on the rug before the fire. He awoke some time later, noticing Anne huddled close to him, trying to get warm in her sleep. Picking her up, he cradled her in his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently and placing a kiss on her forehead. Anne had woken up from the movement and, sleepily, she kissed him, and he took her again. But, when her ladies roused her the next morning, Anne woke to discover that Henry was gone and that Nan had slept in the Queen's bedchamber for the better part of the night, as she was required to do when her mistress slept alone.

Anne briefly wondered if Henry even realised the events of the night before and if, in his sobriety, he even cared.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>

What do you think?


	2. The Falcon's Downfall

**Author's Note:** I forgot to put in the last author's note that flames are also welcome, but I see that someone has already taken the initiative. Congratulations! Though, next time I would suggest actually logging in before leave one, as an anonymous flame can come off as a bit cowardly.

I do wish to address the flamer more specifically: I'm well aware that Anne Boleyn was not a popular queen, having read many different texts on the subject and studied her quite often for quite some time now, and that, even if she was, no one would have dared to speak for her, for fear of offending the King's Majesty. I do believe I stated that this was written for a challenge, so technically the premise of this story is not even my own. And, as one of my lovely reviewers pointed out, **this is alternate universe. :)** Also, if you do not like the premise of a story and truly believe it to be "patently ridiculous," do not read it. Obvious, yeah? I am also now considering ordering a patent for how ridiculous my story is; I'm sure you'll approve.

I've chosen not to delete your review mostly because it amuses me.

Now, of course, I would love to address those who have left the most wonderful reviews and those who have added this to their favourites or alerts lists. Thank you all so much, and I do apologise for how long this chapter took. Truthfully, I had most of it written when I posted the prologue, but it took me a while to really decide where I wanted to end the chapter. It's rather long, so I'm sure that makes up for it!

That being said, welcome to the first "official" chapter of _The Game of Queens_! There is a lot of content from _The Tudors_ boasted within the coming chapters - this one included - mixed in with some historical and mytholigical aspects, so be forewarned. It was necessary to set the scene, which I can only hope I've done efficiently.

Reviews - and flames! - are welcome!

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><p><strong>Chapter One:<br>**"_The Falcon's Downfall_"

_March 4, 1536_

When Henry awoke in the early hours of the following morning he had a splitting headache and he realised quite belatedly that he had a bit too much wine the night before. Groaning slightly, he rolled over in his bed, burying his head in the pillows while he did so. Immediately, he was hit with a wave of the intoxicating scent of roses and vanilla, and he inhaled deeply, relishing in the odour and hardly registering that the scent belonged to his wife. He could not be sure how long he laid there before his mind recognised the meaning of the smell and where he actually was.

Instantly, his eyes flashed open, despite his head's protests of the opposite, and he saw Anne lying on the bed beside him, the blankets wrapped loose around her and barely serving their purpose of covering her, leaving little to the imagination. Her hair was draped over her face, long, dark tendrils cascading across her features, a few still stuck to her face with what Henry presumed to be sweat.

It did not take a fool to guess at what they had done.

Briefly he allowed himself the flicker of hope that they would conceive again and that by late fall they would have son, a little Prince of Wales for England and a baby brother for Elizabeth, who - while she certainly enjoyed being the centre of attention, as many princesses did - would surely delight in having a companion to join her at Hatfield the next spring, but he stopped the thought as soon as it emerged. Anne had lost their long-awaited son and it was surely a sign from God that, like his marriage to the late Princess Dowager of Wales, their marriage was accursed and damned by God, and a marriage that should be forsaken immediately; such was an action Henry could readily admit to himself that he approved of, for it would mean that he could renounce his blighted marriage and marry Jane, who he was certain was a true maiden and a virtuous woman that England would welcome as their Queen, much unlike how they welcomed Anne. Anne was no idiot and would surely see that, as God frowned upon their union and he desperately needed a male heir to solidify the Tudor claim to the throne, it would be sensible to agree to an annulment so that Henry may take another wife and produce heirs with her. She would, of course, be allowed every comfort as due to her status as the Marquess of Pembroke and their daughter, while illegitimate, would be respected and honoured as the daughter of a King.

He could not allow his bodily passions for Anne to resurface once more and endanger the will of God and the actions that would benefit all of England.

Repressing a moan of pain from his injured leg, Henry roused himself from Anne's bed and searched about her chambers for his clothing, which he promptly dressed himself in before he left the Queen's Chambers and headed in the direction of the rooms that her ladies occupied. Finding Lady Anne Saville, who was more affectionately known as 'Nan,' he gently woke her and explained his desire to return to his bedchambers and requested that she attend on Her Majesty in his absence. Confident that she would do as she was told, he walked through the dark corridors of the palace and arrived at his bed chambers, not bothering to strip off his clothing before he slipped off to sleep again.

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><p><em>April 19, 1536<em>

Her ladies were going about their duties of putting her apartments to rights, making the bed and putting her shifts from the night before aside for washing. Mistress Seymour, however, was standing in a corner, staring at something held within her hand so intently that Anne wondered if she was trying to make it catch flame. Madge was speaking with Sir Henry Norris, whom it was well known fancied her. Nan was whispering tidbits of Court gossip in Anne's ear, but she was hardly paying any attention. Her mind was stuck elsewhere, worrying about more pressing matters.

Henry had not come to visit her again.

Anne had hoped that after their interlude alone, the triumphant moment when he had forsaken the Mouse's company for that of his wife, the relationship between King and Queen would improve. She had even dared to wish that she would become pregnant again and that this time she would be successful in providing the King with an heir, a son that would be the perfect likeness of his father so that no one could venture that the son she'd conceived was not the King's true and legitimate heir. Somewhere in the back of her mind, however, she knew that this would not happen. It was likely that Henry did not even realise what happened and would be highly suspicious if she became pregnant.

Perhaps it would be in the best interests of everyone involved if she did not conceive.

Drawing her from her musings, Norris hastened from Madge's side and stopped in front of Anne, bowing low and saying a little breathlessly, "Majesty."

He then walked out of her chambers, the door shutting promptly behind him. Anne turned to Madge and smiled, but she did not smile in return. Something about her face seemed off, causing Anne to feel pity for her cousin. Catching the attention of Nan, she whispered, "I wonder why, after all this time, he still will not marry Madge?"

Nan, having leaned close to her mistress, whispered back, a sly smile on her face, "I think Norris comes into your chambers more for Your Majesty than he does for Madge."

"For me?"

"Yeah."

Anne's attention returned to Mistress Seymour, who was still gazing intently upon the object in her hands, barely catching what Nan said to her.

"Your Majesty, I must tell you: the Seymour's are currently lodging in Mr. Secretary Cromwell's rooms."

This caught Anne attention, "Cromwell's rooms?"

"Yes."

Both Anne and Nan's gazes landed upon the Mouse, who was _still_ shirking her duties in favour of whatever it was she held in her hand. Anne settled a glare in her direction before rising from her seat and making her way over to the Wench. Mistress Seymour saw her approaching and grew momentarily frightened, and chose to hide behind the bed, foolishly thinking that mere furniture was enough to save her from Anne's wrath. She was smug, however, as she held what Anne could now see was a necklace tight in her hands, as if she knew her mistress would not be pleased by it and took pride in that fact.

"What is that?" Anne demanded.

"It's a locket, Your Majesty."

"Let me see it."

It was obvious the Wench did not want Anne to see the locket, but she could not deny a specific command from her Queen, so she chose instead to hold it out to her - allowing Anne to look at it, but not examine it fully, as she wanted to.

Anne was by no means amused and repeated a bit more forceful, "Let me see it."

Quite reluctantly, Mistress Seymour stepped closer to Anne, still holding the locket out towards her. With a disapproving glare, Anne snatched the locket from her hands and grew angry at how ornate it was. Knowing what she would find inside, she opened the locket to reveal a mini-portrait of Henry. The Wench dared to raise her eyes to meet Anne's and Anne had half a mind to slap her hard across the face, particularly if it meant wiping the smug, insolent look off of it, but Anne settled for ripping the locket off her neck. Instantly, the fingers that had been wrapped around the chain of the locket erupted in a burning pain, but she ignored it, not wanting the Seymour Slut to realise that she had hurt herself. Jane glared up at Anne and Anne inclined her head to signal that she should leave, her eyes widening when she didn't immediately do so.

Once she had left, Anne threw the locket on the floor and tried to ignore the ladies in the antechamber, knowing that they were surely gossiping about the new twist of events. Glancing down to assess the damage done to her fingers, Anne was furious to see that she was bleeding. Angry now by the injury done to her fingers and by the fact that her husband was still paying Court to Mistress Seymour, Anne decided that she needed to visit Master Cromwell and she swiftly departed her apartments and headed for his office.

When she arrived, she was granted immediate access. As soon as she entered, everyone in the room bowed to her, except Master Cromwell, who did not appear to realise she was there. She waited for a few moments and then someone spoke up.

"Mr. Secretary!"

He glanced up nonchalantly, as if he did not approve of being interrupted, and then, realising, who had entered his office, jumped up suddenly from his place at the desk.

"Your Majesty!"

Anne gave a nod towards the other men, signaling for them to leave, and Master Cromwell spoke to her, hoping to please her.

"I have some good news for Your Majesty. The Bill for the dissolution of the large monasteries has just passed Parliament. Our reformation is moving apace."

She stepped towards the desk, clearly not enthused by this at all.

"I have been told privately, Mr. Secretary, that the King has already sold Sawley Abbey in Yorkshire to one of his courtiers," she said, moving some papers around on the desk, before selecting one and quickly skimming through its contents, "even though the Bill has not yet reached the statute book, and plainly on _your_ advice. Our reformation was never meant to be about personal gain. Religious houses should not be sold off but converted to better uses."

She stepped away from the desk, growing annoyed, as he began to speak, defending himself, "Madam, the confiscated assets will be used to the pleasure of Almighty God and to the profit of this realm, which is but a pygmy, but shall one day be greater even than Spain."

Anne, while she had been momentarily distracted by the events of the reformation, did not care about pleasing God or adding wealth to England at that moment, and ventured, "So, is it true you have given your private rooms here to the Seymour's?"

The look on his face said enough, but Anne wanted to hear him say it. When he did not answer her, she shouted, swiftly approaching him and grabbing at his collar, "I am the Queen of England! You will answer me! Is it true?"

"Yes, it is true."

Anne was silent for a moment, her anger clouding her mind and preventing her from speaking. Finally, she was able to speak and she informed Master Cromwell, "You have over-reached yourself, Mr. Cromwell. Believe me, you have placed yourself in very _great_ danger." She released her hold on his collar before continuing, "Do you believe me? Or do you assume I no longer possess the power to _crush_ you? It would be an easy mistake to make, Mr. Cromwell."

And then she turned and left the room.

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><p><em>April 25, 1536<em>

Ambassador Chapuys had over-stepped his boundaries once more.

While he was to be commended for his continued support of the King's bastard daughter by the Princess Dowager of Wales, he was incredibly stupid for continuing to press the issue as he did. Could he not see that Henry would not relent, _could_ not relent? If he yielded to Mary that would create a standard. People would believe that if they could hold out long enough their King would relent and allow their wishes to take form, and Henry could not allow that to happen. He wanted to be loved by his people, this was true, but he had learned that true power comes from a good measure of fear.

In an attempt to cool his temper, he withdrew from the festivities, hiding in the shadows and content to watch the courtiers enjoy themselves. Despite this, he was certainly pleased when the Duke of Suffolk approached him.

"Your Grace."

"Majesty," Charles said by way of preamble, and then he seemed reluctant to go on but nevertheless continued, "As your oldest friend, as well as your most loyal subject, I feel it is my duty, however painful, to report some truths to you."

"'Truth?' said jesting Pilate, 'What is truth?'" Henry quoted.

He hesitated, "There are some rumours about the Queen's behaviour. It seems she entertains men in her rooms at night, flirts and behaves intimately with them."

Henry's initial thought was to brush off what Brandon said, as he had many years ago when his friend alleged that she had been lovers with Thomas Wyatt, but as he watched Anne dancing by Mark Smeaton while he played the violin, as if she were dancing with a lover, he could not shake the idea from his head.

Could it be possible?

Could he be a cuckold?

It would certainly have to be looked into. He would see to it that Cromwell found out all that he could.

He would also have to send Jane - his beloved, virtuous Jane - back to her home at Wulfhall. Her reputation could not be allowed to be tarnished by any misdeeds Anne had committed.

* * *

><p><em>April 30, 1536<em>

"Off we go, and…"

It was a simple dance, but it had such an air of grace to it that Anne was seriously considering performing it with her ladies when she and Henry visited France, as they would be doing within a fortnight, to discuss negotiations regarding the betrothal of Elizabeth and the Duke of Angoulême. Anne whole-heartedly approved of the match, having been raised in the French Court, and was anxious to see it through. Though, she _did_ have an ulterior motive to wishing the betrothal of her daughter to a foreign prince, as such a match would solidify Elizabeth's right as a Princess of England and, by extension, Anne's right as Queen.

"Nan! Quicker, Nan…" Anne instructed good-naturedly, turning back momentarily to watch her ladies' progress.

Kicking her feet back and forth, Anne giggled, counting off the steps and continuing her instructions, "One, two, three, four… Jump to the left, and we turn about. Ah, Lady Sheldon! I believe you know what you are doing," she commented when she turned around, seeing her cousin move quite confidently to the steps, and then she continued, "Okay, left arm, comme ça. Back, and after spring…"

Hearing the door open, she turned her head back and saw George. Instructing her ladies to continue, she made her way through the throng of them and joined her brother, whose face was etched with a mix of worry and fear.

He spoke without hesitation, choosing to get straight to the point, "Your visit to France with the King is postponed for a week."

"Why?"

"And there's something else…" he said, not answering her question and leaving her to assume that he did not know, "Mark Smeaton is arrested."

_Mark Smeaton is arrested._ Anne felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach, finding herself unable to breath. Her skin felt clammy and she felt a little dizzy. She couldn't understand why Mark had been arrested. He was a good man and had never done anything undue towards anyone - though her sister-in-law insisted he was her husband's lover. Anne did not think this was the case and quickly ruled this out of the list of possibilities. Could it be possible that his arrest was related to her? If it was then it was likely she was next.

"What for?"

"We don't know yet. I've got to go."

Then, he turned around and rushed out of her room. She returned to the small festivities but did not continue dancing with her ladies. She instead presumed over to the table where goblets of wine were boasted, quickly immersing herself in a glass. When she had drained the glass of all its contents, she picked up another and did the same. See did this many times until she finally found it difficult to find filled glasses. Growing frustrated at this, she was slightly annoyed to see Norris in her rooms again - staring at her, instead of Madge.

Picking up another full glass, she indulged herself in a sip before speaking up, "Sir Henry, you are here again! Did you never seem to have the courage to marry the Lady?"

All of the festivities stopped and Norris rose from his seat, glancing quickly at Madge - who was standing still, awkwardly avoiding the gazes of everyone - before he defended himself, "Madam, marriage is not something to hurry into."

"No," Anne protested, "I know the truth. You look for dead men's shoes."

"Madam? I really must protest."

"I mean," she explained further, "you suppose that if anything bad happen to the King, then you would think to have me."

Norris was adamant about his innocence in that matter, "Madam, if I ever had such a thought, then I wish my head were cut off."

"Oh, that could be arranged!"

Obviously angered by her comment but not daring to argue further with the Queen, he bowed quickly and fled from the room. Anne chanced a glance at Madge, who had a look on her face that Anne couldn't quite decipher. Tardily, she realised that she had pushed too far; she was in too much danger to quarrel with every Courtier in Henry's favour.

She wanted to see Elizabeth. Anne remembered well how Mary and her mother had been separated, and how they never met again. It had been far too long since she had seen her daughter and Anne was afraid that Henry would not allow her to have the chance to do so again. She had to do something.

"Nan," she called, her fear apparent in her voice.

Coming to stand beside her mistress, Nan responded, "Madam."

"Get them to fetch Elizabeth to me tomorrow," she commanded soberly. "I want to see my daughter."

"Yes, Madam."

"And, Nan," she added, taking precautions in case her worse fears were realised, "if anything should happen to me, would you promise to care for her?"

"Yes, Madam," she responded, the tone of her voice indicating that it had been a needless question.

Then she bowed and Anne gave her a weak smile before Nan left to summon Elizabeth to Court.

* * *

><p><em>May 1, 1536<em>

_Your Majesty,_

_It is with great displeasure that I must inform you that, due to a sudden bout of bad weather, the Princess Elizabeth will be unable to travel this day. If it pleases Your Majesty, I am confident the weather will improve by tomorrow, allowing us to make the trip from Hatfield to Whitehall._

_I wish to also take this opportunity to inform Your Majesty of the Princess's health and improvement in the studies she has been assigned thus far. As I have said before, the Princess is a merit to Your Majesty in every way. Her health is thriving and she has now learned to count to ten, a feat she is quite proud of and will surely wish to display to Your Majesty the very moment she sees you._

_I await your reply with further instructions._

_Sincerely,_

_Lady Margaret Bryan,_

_Governess to Her Royal Highness, the Princess Elizabeth_

When the messenger, the poor boy who had already rode through the rain and would be riding through it again momentarily, arrived in the early hours of the morning bearing a letter from Lady Bryan stating that she did not think it wise if Elizabeth traveled to visited her mother due to inclement weather, Anne had been slightly annoyed. Nevertheless, she thought she would at least see if there was any justification to Lady Bryan's worries.

"How bad was the rain, Mr…?"

"Lovell, Your Majesty," he finished quickly. "Thomas Lovell."

Anne gave him a small smile, and amended her initial question, "Yes. How bad was the rain at Hatfield, Mr. Lovell?"

"No worse than it is here, Madam," he answered promptly.

She glanced towards the window and, seeing that rain was not as bad as she had initially thought, requested, "You will take a letter back for me?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Without responding, she moved over to her desk and took out a quill and parchment and composed a letter in reply.

_Lady Bryan,_

_My initial instructions were clear. Princess Elizabeth will travel to Whitehall today. Her carriage will surely protect her from any inclement weather and I expect to see you within the next few hours._

_Anne the Quene_

Folding and sealing the letter, she placed it in the hands of Mr. Lovell with the instructions to take it Lady Bryan at Hatfield and to allow no room for any delays. The sooner she was able to see Elizabeth, the sooner she could feel at least somewhat at ease. Mothers and daughters needed to be together, a necessity which was burned into their very biological nature. She had been wrong to allow Henry to separate Mary and her mother, Anne knew now, and would try to set things right with the young woman as soon as the chaos was over.

"Nan," she called, not even waiting for the other woman to respond, "I will be at prayer. Please come and get me the moment Elizabeth arrives."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Nan bowed, knowing there would punishments if she did not.

Anne could not concentrate on her prayers.

Her thoughts were running rampant, flying from Elizabeth, to Mark, and to her brother, whom no one seemed to be able to find. She was afraid. For the first time in her life, she was _truly_ afraid of what the King would do to her. She had not been a good, obedient wife to him, often allowing herself to grow jealous of his fancies with other women, though she knew it was his right as a king to do so. She did not sit quietly and listen meekly when he berated her for her jealous thoughts, or when he made it clear she had pushed too far.

Perhaps that was what drew him to Mistress Seymour. Perhaps to him she pretended to be a meek and obedient little mouse.

"Your Majesty!" a voice called, drawing her from her depressing train of thoughts. "Your Majesty!"

Anne jumped from her kneeling position on the floor and spun around to see Nan just as she entered through the chapel doors. Instantly, Nan dropped to the floor in a curtsey and tried to say, though she was quite obviously out of breath, "Your Majesty."

"Breathe, Nan," Anne instructed. "What is it? Is Elizabeth…"

"She is here, Your Majesty, awaiting you in Your Grace's apartments."

"Come, Nan. Let us go greet my daughter."

Quickly, they made their way through the corridors and into the Queen's Apartments. As soon as they entered, all in attendance dropped to the floor, including little Elizabeth under Lady Bryan's careful instructions. Anne suppressed a chuckle at how wobbly Elizabeth's curtsey was, knowing that it was so only because she was still a toddler and was still learning how to walk properly. Anne gave her daughter a pleasant smile, approaching her carefully.

"Your Royal Highness," Anne said lovingly as she dropped into a low curtsey, her smile broadening when she saw her daughters eyes widened and heard a ecstatic laugh erupt from her little mouth.

"Mama!" she shouted, fleeing Lady Bryan's side and ignoring her protests to behave like the princess she rightfully was in front of the Queen, and threw herself into her mother's awaiting arms.

"My darling Elizabeth," Anne said, her eyes not leaving Elizabeth's face, as she slowly raised herself and her daughter off the ground, shifting Elizabeth slightly so that she could accommodate for the extra weight. But Elizabeth was paying no attention to her mother, gazing instead about the room as if she were searching for something, or someone.

"What is it, sweetheart? Are looking for Papa?" Anne asked, thinking that Elizabeth would also want to see her father.

"No, Mama," Elizabeth replied, shaking her head furiously. "I know that Papa is busy taking care of England. I'm looking for my baby brother."

Elizabeth's ladies and Anne's ladies all gasped, obviously worried about what the Queen's reaction to this would be. It was all Anne could do to not gasp herself, not wanting to upset Elizabeth or to make her think she had said something wrong.

Lady Bryan looked like she might faint.

"Your Highness!" she shouted, turning her attention to the Queen and curtseying quickly, "My apologies, Your Majesty, but we thought it best not to tell the Princess of the…of what happened this past January."

"No, that's quite all right," Anne reassured Elizabeth's governess.

"Tell me what?" Elizabeth demanded. "What happened?"

Anne motioned with one hand for their ladies to leave them and then she moved to sit in a chair by the fire, holding Elizabeth protectively on her lap. When all the ladies had left, Elizabeth began demanding answers.

"Mama, what is it? Have I done something wrong?"

"No, sweetheart," Anne assured her before she sighed and continued, "What exactly do you know about your baby brother?"

"I know…" Elizabeth began, pausing to gather her thoughts, "Lady Bryan said that you had a baby in your tummy - " And then she stopped, her eyes widening again as if she had come to some grand realisation. "Is that where he is? Is my baby brother in your tummy still?"

She began poking at Anne stomach, saying, "Hello? Baby brother? Are you in there?"

Anne gently grabbed Elizabeth's fingers, trying to hold back her tears for Elizabeth's sake, and said "No, sweetheart, your baby brother is not in my tummy."

"Then…where is he? Is he with Papa?" Elizabeth's young mind could not understand why her mother was becoming so sad talking about her baby brother. "Is Papa teaching him how to be a king? Can I teach him how to be a prince?"

"No, my darling…"

"Why not?"

"Because, Elizabeth," Anne began slowly, "your baby brother is with God."

"So, he's…he's… He's dead?"

"Yes, baby, he was not strong enough to stay here with us, so God called him home and I'm sure he's so much happier there."

"But we needed him here!" Elizabeth protested, starting to cry. "We needed my baby brother here so that he could be King after Papa!"

"Shush, Elizabeth," Anne tried her best to soothe her daughter. "Shush, my darling. It's all right. Your baby brother is where he belongs now."

"No! He belongs here with us!"

"Oh, sweetheart, you'll understand one day."

Elizabeth didn't respond, but contented herself by burying her face in her mother's dress and crying. Anne carefully stroked her daughter's hair, murmuring comforting words that her mother used to say to her when she was upset. Finally, when she had calmed down, Elizabeth spoke again.

"Was Papa really sad?"

"Yes, sweetheart. We both were _very_ sad."

"Can we go see Papa?"

Anne flinched a little at the thought of seeing Henry, who was likely to be very angry for no apparent reason, but nonetheless obliged her daughter, "Of course we can, my darling."

And so together they made their way to the King's apartments. When they arrived, they found them to be vacant, save for a few remaining servants.

"Where is the King?" Anne demanded as she motioned towards Elizabeth, tightening her grip on the young toddler's hand a little. "His daughter wishes to be presented to him."

A servant bowed, saying, "Your Majesty. Your Highness." And then he replied, "His Majesty, I believe, is taking a walk in the gardens now that the rain has stopped, Your Majesty."

"Thank you," Anne replied and then she and Elizabeth headed off to the gardens.

"Mama," Elizabeth declared, extending her arms up "my feet hurt."

Anne smiled down at her daughter, kneeling down to take Elizabeth in her arms. As she rose, she glanced towards the sky and noted that the sky was beginning to grow dark once more. Wanting to grant Elizabeth's wish to see her father before the rain fell, Anne walked with a much quicker pace than before, hardly caring that the bottom of her dress was becoming tattered and dirty. For that moment all that mattered was the darling little girl she held tight in her arms. She took a shortcut through a miniature turret nestled within the gardens and, just as she was coming up the steps, she saw him.

"Henry."

He instantly turned away from her, so she immediately added, "Please. Henry, _please_."

He continued away from them and she continued after him, all the while attempting to persuade him to acknowledge their daughter, though she knew that it was likely he would not. He was still furious with her for the loss of their son and she often feared now that he meant to set her aside, or worse…

"For the love you bear our child, for the love of Elizabeth - "

"You lied to me!"

" - have mercy!"

"You've always lied to me!"

His rage was tangible, and his voice nearly spitting fire at her. It seemed as if all of the love he once possessed for her had been replaced by anger and hate. _What happened to us?_ she couldn't help but wonder.

"No!" she protested, sounding more like a forlorn child than the Queen of England trying to defend her honour.

She gripped Elizabeth tight. What she had intended to be a reconciliation of her family, a reunion of father and daughter had turned into a struggle to prevent the very thin line of connection that they still held from snapping.

Henry stopped walking and abruptly spun on her, pointing an accusing finger at her and continuing coldly, "You were not a virgin when you married me. You were not what you seemed!"

She backed away from him some, honestly afraid that he would hit her, but Henry only maintained his harsh words, stabbing a knife deeper into her heart, "Your father and your brother arranged everything."

"No!" she asserted, following after him when he began to strut away again. Running ahead to face him so that he may see the truth behind her words, she continued, "I loved you! I loved you, and I love you still. Please, after everything we've been to each other, after everything we were… Please…"

He tried to push around her, but she persevered. Anne ran ahead once more, mounting the steps and looking down upon him, willing him to believe her - willing him to look past the son they had lost and to remember the love they had shared, if not for her sake then for Elizabeth's.

"One more chance," she implored breathlessly, knowing what angered him the most and acting on it. She wished she could be as confident as she was years ago, but it was only human to hope that if he gave her the chance she could conceive again and give him a son. "One more."

While she had meant to instill affection in him, she seemed to have only instilled more hate. He pushed passed her, apparently tired of listening.

"Henry. You're Majesty!" she cried, trying with all her might to sway his emotions, her heart breaking when he covered his ears. "You're Majesty I beseech you!"

But he continued walking.

She sank to the ground, unable to stand, and clutched Elizabeth tight to her chest, while attempting to calm herself. She couldn't cry in front of Elizabeth, for such an action may have scarred her more than she already had been. No, she would cry when she returned to her chambers, when Elizabeth could no longer see her. But she _would_ cry, she needed to.

Anne had lost. She lost his love, and the Mouse had won.


	3. The Lady in the Tower

**Author's Note:** I'm glad to see that this story is still well-received. It truly makes my day when I log on and see new reviews! Here is the much awaited Chapter Two and I don't think it will disappoint. It has a mixture of historical myths - those of you familiar with the historical Anne Boleyn will recognise them - and content from both _The Tudors_ and _Anne of the Thousand Days_. Enjoy and remember that reviews are much-loved.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two:<br>**"_The Lady in the Tower_"

_May 2, 1536_

Henry, despite his pleasure in masquerades and pageantries, his joy in continuously being astute and volatile, lacked the ability to be unpredictable at times, or at the very least when Anne was the one predicting. She had known exactly what he would do after their argument in the gardens and probably even before he knew himself. Anne knew that he would send Elizabeth back to Hatfield and had tried her best to prepare herself for the farewell that her daughter would bring as soon as Henry issued the order, realising with a heavy heart that she may never see her daughter afterwards. After all, the farewell given from Mary to Katherine when she was given her own household at Ludlow had been the last time Katherine saw her daughter.

The dreaded, though much anticipated and partially desired, farewell never came.

At first, Anne assumed that Henry had not decided to send Elizabeth home and was allowing mother and daughter to remain together - perhaps in the hope that this would make Anne more accommodating to whatever it was he had planned - but, upon sending Nan to investigate, Anne discovered this was hardly the case. He'd sent Elizabeth home without allowing her to say goodbye to her mother, leaving Anne to wonder what it could possibly mean.

Attempting not to dwell on the matter, though knowing it was hardly possible for her not to do so, Anne listened to her ladies gossip about current Count intrigues - many of which centred around the fact that the Mouse had been sent home to Wulfhall. While she wanted to convince herself that this was a victory on her part, Anne could not help but speculate that Henry had an ulterior motive in sending his beloved slut away. He meant to cast Anne off, that much was apparent to her, but she could not yet determine the meaning behind his actions - other than that it benefited him in some manner.

Nan, noticing that the gossip might upset her mistress and taking iniative as one of Anne's head Ladies-in-Waiting, spoke up amongst the conversation, "Come, ladies, we've embroidering that must be finished. It's not proper to be such gossipmongers, particularly in front of the Queen!"

Not daring to undermine her authority, all of Anne's ladies scampered to grab the embroidery that Nan had mentioned and got straight to work. Nan, however, slowly approached Anne, her cautious demeanor immediately alerting Anne of bad news.

"Yes, Nan?" Anne demanded, a tad more caustic than she had meant to.

"Your Majesty, you know that I only have your well-being in my heart and that I only wish you the best…" she began uncharacteristically. Even in the face of bad news, Nan always went straight to the point and never once had Anne seen her beat around the bush as she did now.

"Nan…" Anne whispered, trying to make the other woman see that no matter what it was she had to say, Anne would not think little of her. "You are my most dear and trusted friend, a woman who has always supported me - and I do mean _always_. You can speak freely with me."

"I know, Your Majesty, but what I need to say may come as a shock to you."

"You're leaving."

Even as Anne said it, not needing Nan's confirmation to know it to be true, she had a sinking feeling in her heart. She had meant it when she said that Nan was her most dear and trusted friend, though she had omitted that she often thought Nan to be her only friend, and it pained her greatly to think that she would lose her companionship at a time when she needed it most.

But she would not stop her.

Anne was slipping from her position as Queen, falling from Henry's good graces and her ladies would fall as well, Nan included. She would have to make sure that she made it abundantly clear to Nan that she understood and would not hold the woman in a lower favour because she left and saved herself while she still could. Anne respected their friendship too much to do that to her.

"No, Your Majesty!" Nan half shouted, half whispered, and Anne could almost hear herself sigh in relief. "I could not abandon you so!"

Anne replied, a little embarrassed, "Oh… I apologise. What is it then, if not that?"

"Your Majesty, there are rumours at Court, rumours that I fear hold much credibility."

"What rumours?" Anne all but pleaded, knowing that, while it may pain her to know, she needed to be aware of what was happening around her.

Nan took a deep breath, obviously not relishing in the fact that she was the one charged with telling her mistress such an apparently disturbing rumour, "There is talk, Your Majesty, that the King means to do more than set you aside."

"How do you mean?"

"Some say that he means to have you arrested."

Anne could scarcely breathe, "On what charges?"

"Treason."

She could feel the colour drain from her cheeks, feel her hands clamming up, but she could not quite process what was happening. Nan, though she did not realise it until later, led her to a chair by the fire, trying to murmur encouraging words that not even she believed. She said that the King would never dream of doing such a thing to an anointed queen, that it would be treason for him to do so. Anne shook her head; Henry was the King, he could do whatever he wanted.

And it made sense. Mark had been arrested, her ladies interrogated, her brother missing, her father and uncle were avoiding her, and Henry seemed anticipant of something as of late. The puzzle pieces were beginning to come together and they meshed perfectly.

Some way or another, though Anne would wonder how for years to come, embroidery fell into her hand, though she did an unusually terrible job of making pristine stiches, and her ladies gathered around her in a circle. It was as if they meant to protect her from harm, though Anne knew they would be no match against the King's insatiable wrath.

The clock outside had just begun to chime when she heard their footsteps, knowing even before they entered what it was they came to do. She gave up embroidering, finally resigning herself to the fact that she was too distraught to do so. At last, the Duke of Suffolk and one of Cromwell's minions, Richard Rich, entered the antechamber and bowed courteously to her, though she knew them both well enough to know that their honourifics were only out of procedure and not loyalty to her.

"My Lords, why have you come?" she asked redundantly, her inquiry giving them permission to speak. Anne had initially thought to not say anything to them, to ignore their presence, but she knew better. Henry would resent her for it and his anger would grow even more than it was already.

"This is the warrant for your arrest," Suffolk responded coldly, unrolling the parchment he held in his grip, his voice not nearly as smug as she had thought it would be. "You are charged with committing adultery with Mark Smeaton, Sir Henry Norris, and William Brereton. Both Smeaton and Brereton have already confessed their guilt."

Rich continued for Suffolk, a sense of urgency underlying his behavior, "We are come at the King's command to conduct you to the Tower, there to abide during His Majesty's pleasure."

Anne sat in silence a moment, trying to think how best to respond, and then she finally declared, rising from her seat, "If it be His Majesty's pleasure, then I am ready to obey. Lady Shel - " she concluded, meaning to tell Madge to begin packing her things before she was interrupted.

"There is no time to change your clothes or pack any of your things," Suffolk disrupted hesitantly. "Money will be provided for your needs at the Tower."

He met her eyes for the first time since his arrival and she could almost swear she detected a bit of guilt hidden there. That action alone showed who she had to blame for the events in previous weeks, though she would not hesitate to admit that Henry was just at fault as his imbecile advisors.

* * *

><p>It seemed to take forever to arrive at the Tower, though Anne could not imagine why she wanted the trip to end quickly. It was not at all like when she was younger and traveled from Hever to Austria and then from Austria to France, and it was certainly not even near similar to when she first travel to Court and caught Henry's eye. She would always abhor returning home to Hever, leaving the intrigues of Court-life and her passionate admirer behind. It was Henry who had shown how much power she could yield and it was Henry who would show her how much she had to lose.<p>

Henry, despite his faults, was a wonderful man and had been, at least for a while, a devout lover to her. He had taught her so many things throughout the decade they'd shared together, such as the fact that she did not need her father to make decisions for her. Henry had loved _her_, not her father's incessant need for power and control. He'd once enjoyed his time with her and there had even been a time that she thought it would never end. That was Henry's second lesson. Nothing lasts forever and even the people you trust the most can abandon you when you need them most.

Now, throwing salt on the wounds that he himself created, Henry was sending her away to a place that was far worse than any place he had sent Katherine to, charging her with the most heinous crimes and defiling her name more than it had already been in recent years. He would force her to stay, awaiting her uncertain fate, in a place made of cold, stone walls - walls that would likely be the last she'd ever see.

She entered slowly, the Master of the Tower - who she had been told was called Master Kingston - bowed courteously to her, his face grave and grim, as if he harbored resentment that he should lodge the Queen of England within his cells. Anne turned slowly, back towards Suffolk and Rich, the hood of her traveling cloak slipping off of her head.

"My Lords," she implored, "I beg you, before you go, to beseech the King's Grace to be good to me."

She doubted they would, but she had to try.

Anne returned her attention to Master Kingston, who then promptly directed, "Madam, this way, I pray you."

She followed, perspiring nervously at the sea of gray that stretched before her, worried for her future regardless of the outcome. The Tower changed people…

Not as cautiously as she should have, she descended down the steps, slipping about half-way down, accepting Master Kingston's hand when he offered it to her. When he had helped through the last few steps, she turned to him, stating solemnly, "I pray God will help me, for there is no truth in these allegations."

Kingston avoided, or rather ignored, her statement, replying instead with more directions, "This way."

She followed him through the small stone archway, her pace quickening as she tried to convince him of her innocence, hoping he would take sympathy on her and treat her kindly, "I am the King's true wedded wife! I'm not guilty of these charges."

A small smile played on her lips, though she wasn't sure why, as she continued, "I am as free from the company of man as I am from sin."

Throughout her declarations Master Kingston continued forward, seemingly unable to hear her. When they reached a door, he banged on it, and Anne's paranoia increased.

"Do I go into a dungeon, Mr. Kingston?"

"No, Madam," he said, finally acknowledging that she'd ever said something to him. "There are lodgings made ready for you."

Anne nodded slightly, her knees buckling under her and her voice flying from her lips before she'd had the chance to process her words, "It's too good for me. Jesus have mercy on me."

Master Kingston's arms were around her, strong but impersonal as he tried to help her back to her feet, which he did with minimal struggle.

"Thank you," she tried to shake him off when she was standing once more, but he kept one hand tight around her arm, as if he were afraid that she would swoon. "Thank you."

He stepped back to allow her entrance first. She straightened her cloak, which had twisted when she fell, and began to enter but then a request entered her mind, one that she could not be sure she'd have the chance again to make if she proceeded without doing so.

"May I have the Holy Sacrament placed in my room, so I may pray for mercy?"

He inclined his head, indicating that she could. And then she stepped forward, allowing the sickening darkness ahead swallow her whole.

* * *

><p><em>May 6, 1536<em>

Four days. Four miserable, treacherous, _damnable_ days had passed since her arrival in the Tower, or so the ladies that Master Kingston had appointed to act in her service had told her. But she didn't believe them because to Anne it felt like it'd been an eternity, as if she'd spent an entire life in the Tower. It was a sorry existence, and terribly monotonous.

She'd done the same thing every day. She got up and changed from her shift to the same gown she'd worn when she arrived at the Tower. Then, she pushed a little food around on the plate of food allotted to her to break the fast, ingesting only a few bites. After that, she would pray, though sometimes she found it a better past time to pace her chambers furiously. The first time she had done so one of her three ladies had remarked to another that she wondered if Anne was trying to cut a hole in the floor. When she had paced or prayed for a while, the noon time meal would be brought to her and she would do the same to it as she did with breakfast. She would then continue pacing or praying until the evening meal, at which time she would say her evening prayers and then retire for bed, often sleeping well past sunrise.

She hadn't even bothered to learn her ladies' names.

It seemed pointless for her to do so. She was either going to be released or executed, and in either case her ladies' names would make no difference.

Today, however, instead of the repetitiveness and her boring routine, she would do something that was, considering the circumstances, a little unusual. It would certainly put an end, at least temporarily, to the monotony presently called her life. It would probably cause her some distress, as well.

That morning, the Duke of Suffolk had come to visit her with a message from Henry in which he implored her to confess the truth of her crimes, saying that if she did so she might be set free and reunited with her daughter. Anne knew better than to accept this at face value, knowing that Henry was likely to be searching for a confession to condemn her with and would not set her free. Still, she could not help but wonder if it would not be beneficiary for her to write to her husband, entreating him to see the error of his ways and allow her to return home with him and their daughter.

And so she began to write.

_Sir, Your Majesty's displeasure and my imprisonment are things so strange unto me, as what to write or what to excuse I am altogether ignorant; whereas you sent unto to me - willing me to confess a truth, and so obtain your favour - by such a one whom you know to be my ancient and professed enemy; I no sooner received the message by him than I rightly conceived your meaning; and if, as you say, confessing truth indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty perform your command._

_But let not Your Majesty ever imagine that your poor wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a fault where not so much as thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never Prince had wife more loyal in duty and in all true affection than you have found in Anne Boleyn, with which name and place could willingly have contented myself, as if God and Your Majesty's pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forge myself in my exaltation or received Queenship, but that I always looked for such an alteration as now I find; for the ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation that Your Majesty's fancy, the least alteration, I knew, was fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other subject._

_You have chosen me from a low estate to be your Queen and companion, far beyond my desert or desire. If then you found me worthy of such honour, good Your Majesty, let not any light fancy or bad counsel of mine enemies withdraw your princely favour from me; neither let that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart towards Your Good Majesty, ever cast so foul a blot on your most dutiful wife and the infant Princess your daughter._

_Try me, good King, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers and judges; yes, let me receive an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open shame; then shall you see either mine innocence cleared, your suspicion and conscience satisfied, the ignominy and Slander of the World stopped, or my guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, Your Majesty may be freed from an open censure; and mine offense being so lawfully proved, Your Majesty is at liberty, both before God and Man, not only to execute worthy punishment on me as an unlawful wife, but to follow your affection already settled on that party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose name I could some good while since have pointed unto; Your Majesty being not ignorant of my suspicion therein._

_But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my death but an infamous slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired happiness, then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great sin therein and likewise mine enemies, the instruments thereof; that he will not call you to a strict account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me at his General Judgement-Seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear and in whose Judgement, I doubt not, whatsoever the world may think of me, mine innocence shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared._

_My last and only request shall be that myself may only bear the burthen of Your Majesty's displeasure and that it may not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who - as I understand - are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found favour in your sight; if ever the name of Anne Boleyn hath been pleasing to your ears, then let me obtain this request and I will so leave to trouble Your Majesty any further, with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have Your Majesty in his good keeping and to direct you in all your actions._

_Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,  
><em>_Anne Boleyn  
><em>_From my doleful prison the Tower, this 6__th__ of May_

After finishing the letter and rereading it to make sure she approved of its contents, Anne added _To the King from the Lady in the Tower_ to the top of the parchment for good measure. _There_ was Henry's truth.

He had made his bed, now he could lay in it.

* * *

><p><em>May 15, 1536<em>

Nearly two weeks had now passed since her arrest and today - today was likely to be her ruin.

She had never been more nervous in her entire life.

Anne had overheard her ladies gossiping about the trials of her brother, Mark, Henry Norris, and William Brereton. They conveniently lowered their voices when discussing the verdicts, though she already knew. They judges, no matter what they truly felt in their hearts, would find a newborn baby guilty of treason if they thought the King wished it. Her brother and the others never stood a chance.

Neither did she.

She was to be tried today and, though she knew that - if people were honest with themselves - the judges of this pointless and undue trial could not possibly find her guilty of the heinous crimes she had been charged with, her confidence dwindled quickly. The King - Henry, the man she had loved and was cherished by for so long - had signed the warrant for her arrest and was surely now waiting impatiently for her death warrant, so that he could sign it and marry his Slut. She was also logical enough to realize that if the men were guilty, she too must be guilty. Anne was not so quick to reserve herself to death, however, and intended to advocate her honour – and Elizabeth's – with all of the power she possessed. She would not allow it to be said that Anne Boleyn did not fight for her life.

Because she was Queen, her trial was to be held separate of the others and at a much later time. George and the others, many of whom both she and her husband had called friends, had undergone their trials that morning. Master Kingston had promised, after much insisting on her part, to come to her immediately following their trials to inform her of the outcome, but Anne had not been convinced that he actually would. Considering the circumstances, she assumed that it was an empty promise made to ease a poor woman's heart.

She had apparently been proven correct.

Her ladies had been avoiding her today, though they tried to do so with an air of discretion, apparently worried they would offend their star-crossed mistress. Anne did not mind that so much, though; they were more of spies to watch over her anyhow. Their company was awkward and she felt like she was walking on egg shells in their presence.

Anne shifted and then moved from her seat by the dwindling fire, careful not to get any ashes or soot on her gown, which was the gown she had selected to wear for her trial. Nan, under the careful eye of Master Cromwell, Master Kingston, and the Duke of Suffolk, had brought it to her yesterday eve. Had it not been for her jailers, Anne would have seized the opportunity to converse with her friend, inquiring about Court and if the Mouse had been brought back in her absence and was now being treated as a queen - much like Anne had been when Katherine was sent away. She would have asked about her daughter and how she was being treated, and if Nan had succeeded in securing a place for herself in Elizabeth's household.

But she knew that every word spoken between the two would have been documented and analyzed - _and probably twisted_, Anne thought petulantly - so she said nothing.

Just as she was going to cross the room and grab her Bible, the door to her room unbolted and Master Kingston walked in, his demeanor serious but sympathetic - as always.

"Master Kingston," Anne said quickly, by way of greeting, and then carried to what truly mattered to her, "What are the verdicts?"

"Madam, it is time for your trial. I have come to conduct you to the Chamber, where your Judges await."

"But, what of the verdicts?" Anne pleaded, her voice implying that her very life depended on his answer. "Master Kingston, were the others convicted as accused?"

Master Kingston's lips thinned and he sighed before he answered, "They were found guilty as charged, Your Majesty."

Anne sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her shoulders quivering slightly as she did so. She closed her eyes, cold reality sinking into her mind and draining her of any hope she might have still possessed; if they were found guilty, she too would be found guilty - and if they were guilty, they would be killed for their crimes. Though she'd known all of these things previously, it did not make hearing them said aloud any easier.

"Thank you, Master Kingston. Your honesty proves to me that however bleak the world seems there is always light amongst the darkness," she replied, already heading towards her chamber door. "Now, come, let us go to trial and get this heartbreak over with quickly."

She didn't wait for him to follow before she exited through the open doorway.

* * *

><p>"Your Majesty, you are accused of adultery in that you, being the lawfully wedded wife of our Sovereign Lord the King, did bed with men and conceive a bastard son, though it pleased God to punish your sins and take that son away from you. You are accused of High Treason in that you, being a subject of His Most Gracious Majesty King Henry, conspired with others the King's death so that you might place that bastard on the Great Throne of England. I ask that you answer my questions honestly, so as to present evidence of either your guilt or your innocence."<p>

Anne found the irony that her uncle, the same uncle who had pushed for so long to place the Queen's crown upon her head, would sit as the High Steward at the trial that would be her ruin - and, by extension, his - mildly amusing. It also amused her that they called upon her to answer their questions honestly, and under the guise that this might prove her innocence. All present knew, without evidence being presented, that she would be condemned to die, simply because the King obviously wanted it so.

She knew this, yes, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try to save herself, if not physically then in the minds of England's citizens.

"By what lawful authority am I called here?" she commanded, her tone regal and authoritative, indicating they should and would be punished for daring to think their anointed Queen would do such wicked things. "I am your Queen and, as such, share the King's immunity from arrest and trial."

"Norris, Smeaton, Brereton, and Boleyn were tried, found guilty, and condemned just mere hours ago," Norfolk reasoned, his voice betraying no emotion though it was apparent he was both annoyed and impressed with her. "If they are guilty, then you are guilty."

Anne perked an eyebrow, hardly surprised by her uncle's response, before she responded, "Did they plead guilty?"

"They were found guilty."

"They were innocent as I am innocent! Any man, no matter who he is, who says the contrary is a liar!" she insisted boldly, knowing she had insinuated that the King was creating trumped up charges to rid himself of a wife he believed had failed in her duties. To say this out loud was treason, though they all knew it to be true, but she had rationalised that she was to be convicted of treason and executed either way so it didn't really matter to her - so long as she preserved a good memory of herself in the hearts of the people. If she was to die, she wanted to die with the truth on her lips.

The Dowager Princess of Wales had been called and would be remembered as Good Queen Katherine; Anne hoped that memory would call her Wronged Queen Anne.

"My Lord, the warrant for arrest was issued by direction of the King. That is sufficient to give this tribunal jurisdiction," Cromwell, who up until now had remained silent in his seat, remarked to Norfolk, belatedly addressing Anne's declarations that no lawful authority could have possibly summoned her to trial for treason. "However, so that there may be no possibility of doubt as to the guilt of the Queen, will my Lord begin the questioning?"

"I will," Norfolk agreed, before returning his attention to Anne. "Your Majesty, knowing the charges pressed against you, how do you plead? If you've anything to confess, you had best do so now."

She thought carefully for a moment, calculating everything she could possibly say, before finally choosing to maintain her declarations of innocence but in a humble manner, "I confess my innocence before God. I solemnly swear, on the damnation of my soul, that I have never been unfaithful to my lord and husband, nor ever offended with my body against him. I do not say that I have always borne towards him the humility which I owed him, considering his kindness and the great honour he showed me and the great respect he always paid me. I admit, too, that I have often taken it into my head to be jealous of him. But God knows, and as my witness, I have not sinned against him in any other way."

Anne stared them down, willing them to see the truth - to admit the truth they already knew and to refuse to condemn an innocent woman and queen, the mother of a little girl who needed her mother, "Think not I say this in the hope to prolong my life; God has taught me how to die and He will strengthen my faith. As for my brother and those others who were unjustly condemned, I would willingly suffer many deaths to deliver them, but since I see it pleases the King, I will willingly accompany them in death - with this assurance: that I shall lead an endless life with them in peace."

The Chamber fell completely silent as she spoke; only the sounds of the breathing of its inhabitants could be heard amongst her voice. She did not waver in her speaking, nor did she slur her words in her anxiety. Anne spoke clearly and eloquently, commanding the attention of all in attendance, and she knew then that none of them truly believed her to be guilty. Their faces revealed, however, that none would speak up for her, for fear of offending the King's Most Gracious Majesty and having their head roll alongside hers.

No matter what their conscience dictated, they would only do what served them in their temporary Earthly bodies and homes - much as many had when the Act of Succession was passed and all were required to take the Oath. Very few were willing to follow their consciences after the example Henry had made of Sir Thomas More and Bishop John Fisher.

It was a sad irony that what had helped to ensure ascension would now help to ensure her downfall.

"Very well," Norfolk said, clearing his throat. "Your Majesty, Mark Smeaton testified that he shared in carnal relations with you on the 6th of October, 1533. What say you to this?"

"That is impossible," Anne replied, almost laughing. "I was still recovering from the birth of the Princess Elizabeth, who - as you know - was born on the 7th of September that very year. No man, save the King, was allowed to see me."

"Another date that Smeaton provided was the 29th of January of this year. What say you?"

Anne countered, "Again, impossible. I was recovering from the difficult birth of my stillborn son, which occurred on the 27th."

And so the madness continued, impossible and obviously trumped-up evidence of dates and times - locations even - were presented and Anne always responded respectfully and reasonably. The doomed Queen defended herself and her honour diligently, refusing to allow such a foul accusation to tarnish her reputation and stain her daughter's youth.

Then the time came for her verdict to be read.

Her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, stood before her, a sincere and almost apologetic gaze in his eyes, "Your Majesty has been accused of treasoning and of imagining and plotting the death of the King's Majesty, of adultery, and of incest. This court of High Steward, after reviewing all the evidence against Your Majesty, finds Your Majesty guilty of the charges against you. And so sentences Your Majesty to be burned or beheaded at the His Majesty's pleasure."

* * *

><p><em>May 16, 1536<em>

It had been a long while since the King had called him to his chambers, seeking companionship and the simple sense of another human being in the room - one that he was not necessarily required to pay much attention to, as he would if he'd invited a woman, and wouldn't mind either way.

His friendship with the King had been rocky as of late, ever since he'd made the mistake of voicing any negative rumours about Anne Boleyn - a woman who it had seemed would have kept the King infatuated forever, continuously spiraling England down the wrong path and into Hell. Now, however and to the immense joy of his wife, Charles's longtime friend finally appeared to be returning to his senses, after nearly a decade of the Concubine keeping the King of England at her fingertips.

Hopefully soon, the King would be free of the whore and would marry Mistress Jane Seymour, a woman who - after Queen Katherine, of course - was the epitome of maidenly virtue and a woman who would certainly help to guide the King and return him to the right path, back to the _true_ religion and the Papal See.

"The Lady was tried yesterday and found guilty of the charges laid against her. She is to be executed this coming Thursday," Charles reported, his tone matter-of-fact, disguising the triumph that he felt

Henry did not say anything initially, content to stoke the fire incessantly and listen to the silence. He was angry, hurt, and embarrassed; though even Charles was forced to admit that any pain Henry felt was caused by the charges he had invented to rid himself of his wife - charges he wouldn't have had cause to make if his lifelong friend hadn't brought undue rumours of the Queen's conduct to his ear.

An innocent woman would die because of him, but he said nothing. He did not try to save her either, knowing there was nothing he could do anyhow. Henry's mind was made up and there would be no changing it, even if he had some qualms about it. Charles tried to console himself with the fact that both Smeaton and Brereton had confessed their guilt, so he certainly had done the right thing in bringing the rumours - however false he may have thought them to be - to the King.

"What of the others?"

He answered bluntly, but with less vigor this time, "Smeaton, Brereton, Norris, and George Boleyn have been found guilty and are to be executed tomorrow."

Henry threw the poker on the ground, allowing it to hit the floor with a loud clang, and then he asked rhetorically, "You know what Cromwell told me?"

He paused a moment, but didn't give Charles the chance to respond, "He told me she'd had to do with over a hundred men. A hundred fucking men, Charles."

Charles eyes became downcast at this, hardly believing that one woman - particularly a queen who was allowed very little privacy - had been able to secretly keep one hundred lovers. He had had a hard enough time believing she had the four that had been accused with her, especially when one had been her own brother in the flesh.

It was difficult enough for him to believe that she was truly guilty and that the men who had confessed were being honest and not declaring their guilt to preserve their own lives.

Henry was silent for a few more moments, before he turned his back to face Charles, "You know what? You know what? My daughter, Mary, owes God a great deal for escaping the hands of that poisoning whore. Oh, she planned to have a poisoned child - it's true! - just like she poisoned Katherine. We have proof. And her baby… Her baby was deformed! Did you know that, Charles? So, how could it have been mine? Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine! That _fucking_ bitch!"

Throughout Henry's monologue, it seemed as if he was going through a wave of emotions - he would be, considering the circumstances, relatively calm one moment and then would be distressed and emotional the next. Charles just sat still in his seat, listening to Henry rant and insinuate how much he hated Anne Boleyn and couldn't wait to see her dead.

It was not as musical to Charles's ears as he had expected it to be.

For years he had waited with bated breath for Henry to tire of his harlot and seek to cast her off, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that the King would go to such great lengths to see her gone. Henry was temperamental, yes, and had signed many death warrants, but those at least had some tangible legal cause. Even for all the charges laid against her, Anne Boleyn was an intelligent woman and Charles found it difficult to imagine that she would be obtuse enough to keep many lovers - especially at the risk of conceiving a bastard son that looked nothing like Henry. Surely she would have realized that the King would have gladly sent her to her death if she did. But she had been tried and convicted, as had her accomplices - two actually confessing to their heinous crimes. How could anyone question her guilt knowing this?

Yet Charles could not shake the feeling that he was allowing an innocent woman to lose her head, and it was not a pleasant feeling.

* * *

><p><em>May 17, 1536<em>

The window was up too high for her to see, but that didn't stop her from moving chests and trunks to the wall before it, so that she might stand on them to see out in the courtyard below. She knew it was probably best that she did not see, but she felt as if she had to, as if she owed it to her brother and the others to watch their final moments.

George had been a good brother to her, someone who was always there when she needed him and always knew just what to say to calm her down when she was excited about something. Aside from Henry, George had been one of her greatest companions; he was wise and understanding, and he never once tried to reprimand her for any of her failures.

Anne was actually quite glad that her execution was scheduled for the next morning, as that would mean she would not have to live long without him. She would not have to live long without any of the people she had either already lost or would soon be losing. Her pain of losing Henry to a mouse would soon be over and so would the pain of losing George and Mark. Her only regrets were that she would not be able to watch Elizabeth grow to become the beautiful young woman that she knew she would, and that her sister Mary would learn of sister's death and likely feel a sinking feeling in her heart, thinking that Anne had gone to grave hating her older sister - something that couldn't have been farther from the truth.

The resonating screams and shouts of the people below did nothing to help her quickly sinking mood. They couldn't wait to see her brother die, and they surely couldn't wait to watch the Queen they had rejected for so long lose her head. Looking down from her window, Anne couldn't see their faces, but she knew that they would be contorted in disgust for the man they believed had lied with his queen and sister, likely conceiving a bastard son that God had rightfully taken away in January.

She didn't have to be down there to know what they truly thought of the situation.

The guards finally appeared leading George to the scaffold. The screams grew louder at his appearance, but Anne no longer paid them any heed, her attention attached to George as if he had his own gravity pulling her in. He reached the front of the scaffold, pausing there a moment or so and Anne assumed that he was, as custom permitted, presenting the shouting crowd with his final words. Then the executioner approached him, pushing him to a kneeling position in front of the block. He helped George position himself appropriately, arranging his shirt just right. He then grabbed his axe and aimed it carefully; with a well-placed swing her brother was gone.

She sunk down the wall, her screams louder by far than those of the crowd.

* * *

><p>Executions, even when warranted, were a nasty business; when they were not warranted, executions were overtly malign - more so than usual. But who was he to question his King? As long as he was paid his pretty penny he didn't care either way. And today he was to be paid many pretty pennies, as he was obliged to cause four men to meet their Maker prematurely.<p>

The crimes the four were charged with, though even he couldn't deny that the odds of them being truly guilty were slim, were the most odious of crimes and should rightfully be punished. He was honoured to have been chosen for the task, knowing the coin he could expect from it. His only regret was that he had not been chosen to perform the Queen's - or rather, the Marquess of Pembroke's execution; Lady Anne's marriage to the King had been annulled just yesterday and he was not yet used to the change in honourifics.

A swordsman from Calais had been employed to do her off. _Trust a Frenchman to intercede in my good fortune_, he thought bitterly.

Those gathered in the crowd before him did not share in his nonchalance in the matter, however. They screamed and shook their fists, shouting insults at _him_ rather than those who had been convicted of treason. Their cries escalated once the first man was executed. They called him a murderer and began to get violent, many trying to climb onto the scaffold and threatening to drown him in the very blood he had just spilt. Master Kingston and the guards of the Tower reacted quickly, pushing the people off of the scaffold and calling for more guards to be summoned.

The King had ordered the executions and they must not be delayed, lest they incur his wrath on them.

The people only grew angrier at this, more taking the initiative and coming at him. Their cries became paramount. One man finally succeed in mounting the scaffold and when he did so he faced the crowd, their cries dwindling significantly so they might hear what he had to say.

"_This_ man," he shouted, indicating with a sweeping hand to the executioner, "This man is a murderer!"

The crowd shouted their agreement and the man reacted by spitting at the headman's feet. He then continued, uninterrupted by the guards or Master Kingston - who were too shocked to fully process the uprising that was happening, "But he is only acting under orders. The King himself signed the death warrants and employed him! So, I say that if these executions are to continue, we march to the King and give him a piece of our minds! What right has he to order the murder of an anointed queen and innocent men whose only crime was to be a lonely woman's friend?"

Another man in the crowd spoke up, causing many glares and controversial whispers, "The lady's marriage to the King was annulled just yesterday! She has no right to call herself Queen, and neither do you!"

The man on the scaffold merely laughed at this, flinging his arms wide open, "And that's just the thing! The crime is adultery, but if _Queen_ Anne truly was unfaithful to the King - and I don't think she was - she can't have committed adultery if she was, as has now been decreed, never really married, now can she?"

The headman dropped his axe and let it fall to the wooden scaffold with a loud clang. Cautiously stepping behind the other man and to Master Kingston, he took his leave of the Master of the Tower. All he wanted was a coin to take home to his family, and a coin was not something worth losing his life for.

If the crowd wanted to kill him for proceeding with the executions, then he would not proceed. Let the King do what he wanted with him; it was not he who was to blame.

_To be continued..._


	4. The Marquess of Pembroke

**Author's Note:** I now present Chapter Three - finally! It's not quite as long as some of the previous chapters, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it nonetheless. Remember that revies and flames, though constructive criticism would be much more appreciated, are welcome. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three:<br>**"_The Marquess of Pembroke_"

_May 17, 1536_

The shouts were what unnerved him the most.

His people were rebelling and, though this was not the first time they had done so, he was afraid. He was truly afraid. Never before had angry citizens possessed the audacity to march up to his home and berate him; there was even talk amongst the Courtiers that they meant to kill him. Master Cromwell assured him that this was not the case, but he had also assured him that the executions would be met with public approval.

His mistake would not go unpunished.

That would have to wait for another time, however. At that time, the only thing that needed to be on Henry's mind was how to deal with the uprising against the executions. He banged his hand on the wooden table, reminding the others in the room of a stubborn child and not the King of England. He fixed a hard glare on Master Cromwell, who he believed had failed him, and his voice was ice when he spoke.

"Tell me again."

Cromwell did not normally like to repeat himself, especially when what he had to say only served to anger his master and the metaphorical keeper of his life, but such concessions had to be made when in the presence of the King, particularly when his mood was sour.

"Due to the extreme negative and violent reactions of the people, the headsman has refused to continue on with the executions," Cromwell began, his voice unperturbed. "We offered to increase his pay if he would proceed, but he claims to fear for his life. He explained, in no uncertain terms, that he values his life more than his gold."

"Does he now?" Henry asked rhetorically, his anger boiling. "And did you, Mr. Cromwell, explain to him, _in no uncertain terms_, that disobeying a direct order from one King's is construed as treason and will be punished as such?"

"No, Your Majesty," Cromwell admitted reluctantly, before he ventured, "Though, Your Majesty, if I may? I don't believe that to be the best course of action."

"Why not?" Henry snapped. "There are plenty other headsmen who would love for the job. It would be easy enough to find a replacement."

"I fear, Your Majesty, that this may only serve to anger the people more."

"Do you think I care what the people think?" Henry shouted. "I'll send them all to the chopping block if I must! I want her dead! I want it over with! Finished!"

"I think he's right, Henry," Charles Brandon, who had been summoned to help rectify the situation, conceded boldly, taking liberties he had not taken for many years. "People are gathering outside your walls and they may mean to kill you. This is not a battle you can win."

"Not a battle I can win?" Henry repeated, exasperated. "I am the King of England! My word is law!"

Cautiously, and with much less liberty than before, Charles tried to reason with the King, "Your Majesty, I worry that if you proceed the people may view you as a tyrant and seek to overthrow you. I only have your best interest at heart."

"Civil war may materialise, and Your Majesty has no heir to succeed you," Cromwell interceded, honing in on Henry's fears in the hope that it would prove successful to ending the trouble they were experiencing. "The people, however wrong they are, will only see this as proof that they are right in their efforts."

"What do you propose we do, then?" Henry retorted snidely. "Shall I let four traitors walk free and continue to embarrass myself by calling that harlot my wife?"

Cromwell almost appeared offended that the King had suggested such a thing, though Charles knew better than to accept this for what it appeared. Henry looked at Cromwell expectantly, waiting impatiently for a proposal. Charles held his breath as Cromwell gathered his thoughts together to explain; he had a plan himself but he was no where near bold enough to voice it aloud, for fear of it being rejected and his King angered.

"I think, Your Majesty, that the executions should be cancelled, to satisfy the people's demands," Cromwell began hesitantly. "The remaining traitors - Smeaton, Brereton, and Norris - should be sent into exile, to a place of Your Majesty's choosing. Lady Anne shall be sent, in exile, to Pembroke Castle in Wales; she should be allowed, for the sake of the people, to retain her title as Marquess of Pembroke."

Blood rushed to Henry's ears at the thought of allowing the woman who had both scorned and embarrassed him to keep a title he had foolishly given her out of a false passion, but as he mulled it over he began to realise that Cromwell may have been right. He hated to admit it, but he had no choice but to agree with Cromwell's suggestion. Producing an heir before he died, though that was hopefully many years away, was more important than anything else he could come up with, even his monarchial pride.

"Fine."

* * *

><p>Her ladies, for the most part, had let her be. It seemed that they had taken pity on their mistress, whom they viewed as a poor woman in unfortunate circumstances and not the traitorous whore she had been dubbed to be. Though she knew they were employed as spies and were paid to report her every word, she felt as if they had grown to respect her in the short time they were together. She almost dared to think that they might actually miss her when she was gone, but she tried not to think on that for too long.<p>

When the other women retreated to their corner of the chamber, Anne took it as a sign that it was time for bed. With a heavy heart, she rose from her position under the window - where she had remained even after the shouts below had ceased - and moved toward the alter Master Kingston had allowed to be placed in her room. She began to pray, her thoughts resting on her brother, Mark, Henry Norris, William Brereton, and - most importantly - on her daughter. For a moment, her thoughts paused on herself and her appointment with death the next morning. But all her thoughts and prayers were futile and did little to calm her nerves. Sighing, she picked herself up off her knees and sat down at the wooden desk on the opposite wall.

The desk was mostly barren - having not been touched since she wrote her last letter to Henry - and held only a few pieces of parchment, a quill, and some inkwells. Hesitantly, she began to write. She wrote several lines of poetry that she didn't like, scratching them out with something akin to a feverish vigor. Finally, she penned a line that sounded wondrous to her, however bleak it was.

_O, death, rock me asleep_

Chills ran up her spine as she released all the heartbreak and disappointment of the last months. The quill moved ardently across the smooth parchment, Anne's hand carefully forming letters and continuing the poem she had begun. When she finished, she read what she'd wrote, and was content with it and its purpose. Her emotions properly released, she was now calm and ready for death. She would meet with God and would not disgrace her dignity on Earth as she did so.

_O, death, rock me asleep,  
><em>_bring me to quiet rest,  
><em>_let pass my weary guiltless ghost  
><em>_out of my careful breast.  
><em>_Toll on, thou passing bell;  
><em>_ring out my doleful knell;  
><em>_let thy sound my death tell.  
><em>_Death doth draw nigh;  
><em>_there is no remedy._

_My pains who can express?  
><em>_Alas, they are so strong;  
><em>_my dolour will not suffer strength  
><em>_my life for to prolong.  
><em>_Toll on, thou passing bell;  
><em>_ring out my doleful knell;  
><em>_let thy sound my death tell.  
><em>_Death doth draw nigh;  
><em>_there is no remedy._

_Alone in prison strong  
><em>_I wait my destiny.  
><em>_Woe worth this cruel hap that I  
><em>_should taste this misery!  
><em>_Toll on, thou passing bell;  
><em>_ring out my doleful knell;  
><em>_let thy sound my death tell.  
><em>_Death doth draw nigh;  
><em>_there is not remedy._

_Farewell, my pleasures past,  
><em>_welcome, my present pain!  
><em>_I feel my torments so increase  
><em>_that life cannot remain.  
><em>_Cease now, thou passing bell;  
><em>_rung is my doleful knell;  
><em>_for the sound my death doth tell.  
><em>_Death doth draw nigh;  
><em>_there is no remedy._

The words seemed to reflect perfectly upon her dismal situation, while they were vague enough to not risk the King's anger any more and bring his insatiable wrath upon her poor daughter. It was unfortunate that her daughter would never truly know her mother. Elizabeth would likely grow up hating the woman once known as Queen Anne. It hurt her heart, but she was to die and there was no remedy.

* * *

><p><em>May 18, 1536<em>

After having spent the entire night and morning in prayer - now that she had been finally able to concentrate on her relationship with God, rather than the one she had possessed with an unjust king - Anne sat motionless on her bed. She watched silently as her ladies cleaned up from the breakfast that she had not touched. Hunger no longer existed in her mind; the only thoughts that consumed her were those that centred on preparing herself for her appearance before God. In her mind, she already knew what she would like to say to those gathered to watch her die - if Henry allowed her to do so.

"_I will give glory to thee, O Lord, for you have saved me from injustice, from slanderous tongues, and an unjust King. My soul shall praise thee even to the last - to my death._"

Her words rang loudly in her ears, reminding her that no matter what fate she was destined for - the stake or the scaffold - God would protect her. She could only hope the Lord was more forgiving of His Majesty than she was.

Footsteps approached in the hallway and the door opened suddenly, revealing Master Kingston on the other side. He was sombre, as always. Anne remained seated initially, while her ladies scampered to stand orderly in a line. When Master Kingston had stepped properly into the chamber, Anne rose and met him in the centre of the room.

"Master Kingston," she greeted, trying to hide the desperation in her voice.

"My Lady," he replied, bowing slightly to her. He took a step toward her - an action that she mimicked, before he continued, "My Lady, I can now tell you that the King has decreed that you will not be burned, but suffer a quicker death by decapitation. In his mercy, the King has also acceded to your plea to use the services of the Executioner of Calais, who is even now on his way here from Dover."

_In his mercy_… The phrase echoed in her mind and she stifled a laugh. When had Henry ever known mercy? He only knew what his manhood desired and that was no longer her, and so she would die. If that was mercy then his previous actions toward her - such as His Majesty raising her to be a marquess and then a queen - must have been an act of God.

Anne shook her head slightly to rid her mind of such thoughts; she must be calm. The end was near and the King's impulsive and hurtful emotions would no longer harm her soon.

"When am I to die?"

"At nine o'clock."

Instinctively, she glanced toward the small clock resting on a table. It read seven o'clock. _Good_, she thought. _I have time to prepare. I want to look every bit the Queen I am._

"I am content," Anne declared, sensing Master Kingston's weariness of the subject. "Will you please send for Archbishop Cranmer, so he may hear my last confession and administer Holy Communion?"

"My Lady," Master Kingston said as both by way of confirmation that he would send for the Archbishop and of excusing himself to do so.

Surprisingly, it did not take long at all for Master Kingston to fetch Archbishop Cranmer, and Anne wondered briefly if the man had not already been present at the Tower, waiting to be summoned for the very purpose Anne wanted him. When Cranmer entered the room, he appeared to be on edge and Anne assumed that he was not pleased by the present situation. He did not, as she expected, beginning lying out his instruments for Holy Communion and instead stood awkwardly by the empty fire.

"My Lady," Cranmer began, his voice sympathetic, "I am obliged to tell you that your marriage to the King has been declared null and void."

"On what grounds?"

He obviously did not want deliver this dreadful, but expected, news. He flinched as soon as the words left her lips, but nonetheless answered her, "On the grounds of your close and forbidden degree of affinity to another woman known carnally by the King."

"My sister…" Anne stated dryly.

His whisper was barely audible, "Yes."

"Then my daughter is…?"

"Yes," Cranmer answered, a little hoarsely. "Elizabeth is to be declared a bastard."

It had come as no surprise that the King had ordered their marriage annulled but she had hoped - and it was a naïve hope, she admitted with hindsight - that he would not declare Elizabeth to be illegitimate. When he had done so to Mary, Anne knew that he always had planned to reinstate her in the line of succession and as a Princess of England - after any children he would have with Anne, of course - but that he had never done so largely because he didn't want to offend his wife by casting favour on his daughter from his sister-in-law. She also knew that His Majesty had not yet yielded because Mary remained obstinate, much like her mother had been before her death, and had refused to admit the truth that her mother's marriage to the King had been unlawful. Mary's rejection of the Oath had harmed her more than anything else ever had; without the Oath, Mary would never see her father again. Her exile from her father was meant to teach her to accept her place, as she was old enough to do so, and Anne doubted that even she, his wife, could have said anything to change his mind.

But Elizabeth… Elizabeth was still growing her first teeth and learning her first words; she did not yet understand the concept that some marriages were right and some were wrong. Anne knew that she didn't understand how her older sister was not a princess while she was, and she certainly would not understand why she suddenly was no longer a princess and why her father was married to another woman. Anne wondered if she would be told of her mother's fate and how she would think of her mother when she was older. Would Elizabeth hate her?

Elizabeth did not deserve to be punished for her mother's crimes, particularly ones that were never committed.

"Madam, I swear to you I will do everything within my power to protect and support her, and keep her always in the King's good and kind graces," Cranmer assured, approaching her to show his support.

"Thank you," Anne replied, unable to think of anything better to say. Then she added, "And now, since my time approaches, I beg Your Grace to hear my confession."

The Archbishop became panicked and did not begin setting up the instruments he would need for her confession and to administer Holy Communion. Instead, he stated hesitantly, "Madam, there is one more thing I am required to tell you."

"What is it?" Anne demanded, ignoring the very perturbed face of Cranmer.

"Your execution has been cancelled."

Anne didn't understand what he was saying. Surely the King would not tease her with death, murder four men on her behalf, and then set her free? She had watched her brother's head be severed from his body, and now she would be made to live with the knowledge that he had died in her name? No. She must have heard wrong; her execution was _postponed_, not cancelled.

"So when, Archbishop," she inquired, "am I to die?"

"My Lady," Cranmer nearly pleaded, "don't you understand? You are not to die. Your execution has been cancelled. You will live."

Anne stood in silence for many moments, allowing the knowledge to rush over her. Her mind tried desperately to rationalise the information, frantic to find a logical reason why such a horrid calamity should befall her.

"But… I don't understand…" she stammered, her fingers darting to her neck to play with the necklace that rested there. Sensing her distress, the Archbishop grab her arms gently and led her to the chair by the desk. When she had composed herself, she questioned bluntly, "Why? Why would the King deem it necessary to allow four men - innocent men go to their deaths, and then set me free?"

Cranmer pulled a chair and sat in front of her, linking his hands with hers for support, "There was an uprising during the executions yesterday. It seems that the general public has realised that you can't have committed the treasonous adultery if you were never married. The headsman feared for his life and refused to continue, and the people were so passionate about their beliefs that they marched to Hampton Court and threatened the King. His Majesty, in his ever-present desire to please his subjects, granted their desires and have ordered all the executions to be cancelled and all of the accused to be sent into exile."

"But, my brother… I watched his neck receive the headman's blow."

"Yes, I'm afraid the uprising did not begin until just after his execution," said Cranmer with a heavy sigh. He then continued, "His Majesty has ordered that you shall be allowed to retain your titles and lands as the Marquess of Pembroke and shall be required to lodge at Pembroke Castle in Wales. Your daughter will be joining you there within a week, so that you might have a little time to prepare chambers for her."

"I'll not be going."

It was Cranmer's turn to stammer, "I - I beg your pardon, My Lady?"

"I spoke quite clearly, Your Grace," Anne snapped, her voice quickly becoming laced with venom.

"Madam, I think it'd be best for all of those concerned if you agreed with His Majesty's concessions," Master Kingston spoke up, reminding her of his presence.

Anne's eyes flickered a glare in Master Kingston's direction as she rose violently from her seat, moving so quickly she knocked it to the floor. Swiftly approaching him, she accused, "You knew! You knew and you didn't tell me! How dare you?"

"Madam, I knew nothing of His Majesty's plan until I fetched the Archbishop as you asked me to," Kingston reasoned.

"But you knew of the uprising! You knew the others lived while my brother had been cropped at the neck, and still you did not tell me!"

"I cannot deny that," Kingston replied, defeated, "but I thought His Majesty would order the executions to continue regardless. I had been sent no word of instruction otherwise."

Cranmer's hands rested on her shoulders then and he guided her back to her chair, which had been put back to rights. Once again, he sat in the chair in front of her, but this time he waited for her to speak.

"When will I leave for my…new home?" she ventured, truly curious as to when she would set foot for the first time in the castle that had been hers for nearly four years now.

"You will leave for Wales tomorrow morning and will be conducted by Royal Guard to your new estate," Cranmer answered, relieved that Anne had calmed some. "You are expected to arrive late in the evening on Sunday. Your possessions from your apartments at Hampton Court are being moved as we speak."

"And my ladies?"

"Two of your ladies have elected to move to Pembroke with you," he replied. "Lady Anne Saville and Lady Margaret Sheldon. They will be leaving for Pembroke with your possessions, though they have been presented with the option of leaving with you instead."

Anne only nodded her response.

"Forgive me, My Lady," the Archbishop excused, "but I must return to Hampton Court now. His Majesty will be expecting me."

"You may go," Anne granted needlessly.

When both Archbishop Cranmer and Master Kingston had vacated her chambers, Anne sank to the floor, sobs shaking her body. She rocked back and forth on her hands and knees, wailing in her despair. The last words she uttered before she slipped into the troubled gloom of sleep were, "George… I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p>Henry's spirits were at the best that they had been in a long while. His cursed marriage was officially annulled and his wretched wound had apparently even chosen to not ail him on this day. While he was not entirely pleased by the turn of events, he had consoled himself with thoughts of his beloved Jane. Today they would become betrothed and would soon be married, though it would not yet be a formal betrothal. Cromwell had thought it best to wait until the Marquess of Pembroke - Henry refused to think of the whore by her name, for such familiarity would be a betrayal to his lovely new bride - had left the Tower and was on her way to Pembroke Castle in Wales, where she would live out the remainder of her days in exile. With <em>her<em> out of the way, he and Jane could marry and the future Queen of England could finally be his in both body and spirit.

Jane. His beautiful, wonderful and virtuous Jane. Henry could not wait to possess her and he certainly could not wait to see the handsome boy she would give him. It would only be then that the past six years of treachery and the decades of disappointment would be worth the wait. A legitimate son from his true and beautiful Queen would be all he needed to make his life complete.

"Hiya! Woo!"

Happily anticipating what the future would bring, he urged his horse forward, ignoring the slight sting that suddenly erupted in his leg when he did so. Nothing would be allowed to spoil his happiness, not anymore.

The next few hours found Henry enraptured by mirth-filled revelries, along with many not-so secret glances and smiles at his Jane. It was in the midst of this laughter and merriment that Henry broached the idea of a marriage between himself and Jane to her father.

"I'm sure you are aware, Sir John," he began nonchalantly, "that my marriage has been declared null and void."

"I have been made aware of the circumstances, Your Majesty," Sir John responded, "and, like everyone else, I have been shocked and utterly amazed at what I have heard."

"I am grateful, but I must tell you: the Privy Counsel, despite these recent hurts, have pleaded with me to venture once more into matrimony in the hope that my bride will produce a legitimate heir," Henry bluffed slightly; in truth, the Privy Counsel had made no such remarks but Sir John needn't know that.

His eyes had rested on Jane throughout the last phrase of his statement and he noticed that she was watching him as well, listening intently to all he had to say. It pleased him to see this, for it was proof in his eyes that Jane loved him.

He continued bluntly, his gaze still on Jane, who had now modestly looked away after being caught staring at the King, "I think you know my choice has fallen upon your daughter."

"I do."

With a smile, Henry grabbed his goblet and raised it to make a toast, "Tomorrow you will all travel by barge to Hampton Court, where our betrothal will be announced this coming Saturday."

A smile broke out on Jane's face, a sight which, to Henry, was most wondrous to behold. Utterly pleased, the King turned to his future father-in-law once more and declared, "I swear to you, Sir John, from tomorrow everything will be different. We will be young and merry, as we used to be."

Inclining his head to the woman who would soon become England's Queen, he hailed, "Lady Jane."

The sentiment was happily reciprocated throughout the room and that was something that made his happiness and pride swell even more. Finally, England had a queen that deserved the crown.

* * *

><p>"I won't wear it! You can't make me!"<p>

Elizabeth was in a dreadful mood. She hadn't seen her Mama for weeks and weeks, which she knew was normal, but it was different this time. Mama was sad and Papa was angry, and she couldn't help but feel that it was somehow linked to her baby brother in Heaven. She had even heard some of her ladies saying that her Mama had been arrested, but they didn't know that she had been listening.

She didn't believe it, of course. Her Mama would never do anything wicked. She was the bestest Queen in all the world and her Mama couldn't be arrested. But Elizabeth was still a little worried; her Papa had been _very_ angry with her Mama when she had last seen him. He didn't even want to talk to his Elizabeth, and that made her very sad.

And _now_ one of her ladies was trying to put her traveling cloak on her so that she could move to a new house, but she didn't want to.

"No! No! I'm not going!"

Lady Bryan came rushing over and grabbed her shoulders hard, shaking them some, and scolded, "Lady Elizabeth, you must do as you're told. Hush, or I will hit you!"

Elizabeth didn't believe that Lady Bryan would hit her because no one was allowed to hit the Princess, but she was really confused by what she'd said. Muggie had never called her Lady Elizabeth before. That's what Muggie called her half-sister, but Lady Mary wasn't a princess like she was. Why would she suddenly call the Princess _lady_?

"Don't look like that, girl!" Muggie shouted at another lady, who was fairly new to Elizabeth's household and Elizabeth couldn't remember her name. "We are ordered to pack up the child's things so that she can be moved to Pembroke Castle and away from the King."

"Poor little Princess…"

"She's no longer a princess. She's a bastard," Muggie corrected the other lady, "and Master Cromwell has asked for her accounts to be settled - also in respect of necessities for provided for her mother's stay in the Tower."

"You mean the child should pay for her mother's imprisonment?"

"Yes," Muggie answered, "out of the money the King pays for her household."

The other lady looked shocked and Muggie continued, "Exactly. The world is a slippery place, My Lady. If you would take my advice, for what it's worth, find a rich man to marry who it too stupid to know anything about politics and then, perhaps, and unless you die in childbirth, which is likely, or the plague, which is almost inevitable, then you will be happy."

Elizabeth wanted to cry. Nothing made sense. Muggie was saying that she wasn't a princess anymore, that she was a bastard. Elizabeth didn't know what that meant but she knew it couldn't be good; Muggie didn't seem happy about it. And to make things worse, she had to move _and_ her Mama really had been arrested.

She was not happy at all; already she didn't like being _Lady_ Elizabeth.

_To be continued..._


	5. Pembroke Castle

**Author's Note:** I had planned on posting this for Christmas, but I didn't have it ready in time. Then, I made the decision that I wouldn't post this chapter until I was nearly done with the next-to prevent a long wait in-between chapters-but I realized it had been too long since the last post.

I did take some author's license with some aspects of this chapter-one example being the Barony Cleddau.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Reviews are welcome, as always.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four:<strong>

"_Pembroke Castle_"

_May 19, 1536_

Nan and Madge arrived at the Tower just after dawn the next morning, having elected with little consideration to travel with their mistress-as opposed to traveling with her possessions. They had come dressed in their traveling clothes and were already prepared for the four-day journey to Wales.

Anne was not yet ready to leave and was attempting to force-feed herself at least a little portion of breakfast; she needed food, she knew she did, but she just could not make herself hungry. The past months had been tumultuous and caused her to have little desire to do anything, including those things that she biologically needed to survive. Aside from her nonexistent appetite, sleep was near impossible. Anne would lie in her bed and stare at the wooden ceiling as if it told the most riveting stories. The few times she did doze off she was assaulted by dreadful nightmares.

She had never been in such a state of depression before, and she knew it was not healthy but she often wondered if it would not have been better for the King to simply ignore the pleas of his subjects and have her killed, as he so obviously wanted. It was a selfish thought, true, but she would not be feeling the pain she felt if she were dead.

In this dark time there were very few consolations. She would be seeing Elizabeth again soon and would not have to forgo her company again until it came time for Elizabeth to marry. She supposed that she should consider it a consolation that she was still alive, but found it hard to do so. Anne struggled to think of more but she soon realised that her daughter was the only consolation, unless one could consider the age old wisdom that God would never present his children with more trouble than they could handle and even Anne was beginning to wonder if God did not have a sense of humour.

It was strange and saddening to think about what might have happened if she had not lost her son. She was fairly certain that her life would be much more mollifying; she would now be preparing to enter into seclusion and formally withdraw from court and, while she knew that she would likely have spent much of her confinement pondering over the sex of her baby, Anne knew with hindsight that her life would have taken a dramatic turn for the better. If she had not miscarried things would be so much better.

"My Lady, are you ready to prepare for your journey?"

Nan's voice called out, finally breaking Anne free of her despondent stupor. Anne jumped slightly as she came back to her harsh reality. Nan's gaze upon her was gentle and kind, but there was a trace of sadness hidden there as well. It was difficult for Nan to see the tribulations her mistress had gone through.

Anne smiled sadly, "I am."

Her Tower Ladies had already packed the one trunk she required the afternoon before. She was essentially ready for the journey, but she still needed to be dressed in her traveling clothes. Pushing herself up from what had served as her breakfast table, she heaved a slight sigh and with no emotion laced in her voice, she commanded, "Dress me."

The ladies set to work immediately and she was ready in no time. As if on queue, Master Kingston knocked on her chamber door. Bidding him to enter, Anne presented him with a small smile, though all in attendance were very aware that the smile failed to reach her eyes.

"Your escort and carriage are prepared for you, madam," he informed with no preamble.

"Thank you, Master Kingston," Anne responded, truly grateful to all that the Master of the Tower had done for her. "I shall never forget your kindness. You have been a sincere friend in this trying time."

"My Lady," replied Master Kingston with an inclination of his head.

With another half smile, Anne turned to her ladies and instructed, "Come: Nan, Madge. We've a long journey ahead and we had best be going."

Together, and headed by Master Kingston carrying Anne's sole trunk, they treaded quietly through the hallways of the Tower. Tower Guards flanked their path on each side, Henry's obvious attempt at preventing Anne from escaping. As if she would; the woman now to be known once more as the Marquess of Pembroke was much too smart to attempt running when such leniency had been granted, even when that mercy had not been desired. To rebel against that clemency now would only cause excessive threat to the well being of her daughter, and that was the most important thing in Anne's life.

Her shoes clicked annoyingly on the floor, disrupting the silence that enveloped her small entourage. _Click…click…_ The sound reminded Anne of a heartbeat and she briefly wondered how she might have felt if, instead of walking towards a new life, she were walking towards death. She would have liked to tell herself that she would remain calm and serene but she worried now that the clicking of her heels would have caused her demeanor to falter. Even now the sound grated on her nerves and she yearned desperately to increase their pace, but she could not. Master Kingston had set the pace and the guards would likely react if she were to step ahead of him.

After many long and maddening moments, they finally arrived at the exit. From beyond the gate, Anne could hear a roar of voices, all speaking out at once and generally incoherent. As she and her retinue emerged through the gate and finally out of her prison walls, the voices only grew louder. She noticed immediately that members of the Royal Guard flanked their short path leading from the Tower Gate to her awaiting carriage. Four Royal Guards were positioned on horses at the carriage, two guards preceding the carriage and two guards following. Having taken in the sight of Henry's excessive precautions, Anne paused and cast a hungry stare at the sky, her face fully inclined to the dismal gray above. Almost as if God himself had timed it, a droplet of water hit Anne square on the nose when she looked up to Heaven. More and more drops began to fall as the Tower of London began to have its first rainfall in nearly three weeks.

Giggling, she remembered with a certain fondness the prediction she had made to Master Kingston when he brought her dinner that first night.

_She was staring absentmindedly at the window high up on the wall. After weeping for hours, Anne had sat up straight on her bed and stared out the window to the sky that stretched for miles. That was all she could see from her vantage point – the sky, and even the sky itself seemed to be depressed by her imprisonment. It was a dank gray and was very bleak. She watched in silence, transfixed as rain pouring from that same sky assaulted her window, trying in vain to break her free of the Tower, to let her go home and pretend this was naught but a dream._

_Master Kingston knocked twice on the chamber door before she heard him. Because she was the Queen he could not proceed through the door until she bade him to._

_When she finally did her the knocking, Anne commanded, her voice hoarse from all her crying, "Enter."_

_He did not speak to her as he went about his business of setting her food on the table provided, and she said nothing to him. What would a prisoner have to say to their jailor when their proclamations of innocence had gone ignored, and likewise what would that jailor have to say to a prisoner that was innocent of the crimes they were accused of but would be convicted regardless?_

_It was not until he approached to take his leave that she spoke to him, "It shall not rain."_

"_I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?" the Master of the Tower questioned, truly perplexed. "It is raining now."_

"_God is crying. He knows of my innocence and it hurts Him that I must be treated so poorly," she explained but did not really clarify Master Kingston's confusion. "This is the last time that it will rain until I am released, and then God shall weep with joy."_

_Unsure what to make of her statement, Master Kingston took his leave, "Your Majesty, I fear I must go and return to my own chambers for the night. If you should require of anything, do not hesitate to let your ladies know."_

_Anne waved him off, her gaze still fixed upon the window, and repeated, "It shall not rain, Master Kingston. Remember."_

Returning her gaze ahead, she straightened her stance and continued forward. The faces in the crowd were surprisingly sympathetic and bore no hatred towards her, as she had expected. She realized now that their shouts did not spew venom towards her, but instead proclaimed their infinite love and loyalty to her. They begged her to live a long life and to not falter in hope, and they insisted that they would not rest until the Queen's Jewels were hers once more.

Anne did not know what to say to people who had once hated her so fiercely and now loved her so intently, so she settled for nothing.

When they reached the carriage, Anne was the first to enter. She was eager to leave the Tower behind and she hoped most sincerely that she would never have to step foot through the gate again. Nan and Madge climbed gracefully behind her and situated themselves on the cushioned seat opposite to their mistress. The carriage lurched with a start, jolting Anne back towards the wooden wall.

"Are you comfortable, My Lady?"

Madge's voice rang out suddenly and Anne's gaze rested upon her companion's eyes quickly. Her voice depicting very little emotion, she responded, "Yes, Madge. Thank you."

"It's so exciting to be moving to a new castle," Madge said cheerily, not noticing Nan's warning glare; she obviously didn't realize that she was treading quickly on painful territory for her mistress, even while trying to make the situation seem more promising than it was. "I cannot wait to see what it looks like!"

Anne tried to appear as enthused as Madge had been, but her present melancholy made optimism near impossible, "Yes. It is very exciting."

"Come, Madge," Nan commanded gently, "I am sure My Lady Pembroke must be very tired and would like to rest for the remainder of our journey."

Anne did not contradict the woman who was still to be the head of her Ladies and she instead accepted the gracious allowance of quiet peace. They sat in silence for a while, Anne listening contentedly to the constant drizzle of rain on the ceiling of the carriage and allowing the serene sound to lull her off into a slight daze as her eyes closed. She was not fully asleep and she did not dream but, despite her unhappiness, it was the best rest she had taken part in for a while.

When the silence no longer soothed her, she became desperate for some form of interaction. For nearly three weeks, she had been allowed virtually no company and had not seen those that she truly trusted in the privacy that they needed to discuss what she wanted to know.

"Is it true that Mistress Seymour was sent from Court?"

Madge jumped and began to stare uncomfortably out of the carriage window, so it was Nan who answered Anne, "Yes, My Lady, the King sent Lady Jane from Court just before your arrest-though, to be true, I must tell you that she is to return today by Royal Barge."

The scenario was so reminiscent of Henry's courtship with Anne that she nearly laughed: the former Queen that the King no longer found to be exciting was to be sent away in exile to a far out castle where she never had to be thought of again, while a new and alluring woman took her place. Anne had never before believed in karma, but she felt sure that this must be what it was like. If she had been kinder to Katherine, more courteous, more generous, more…understanding, then perhaps karma would not have allowed her to be exposed to this terrible fate.

"And I suppose a betrothal is to be announced?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!" Anne exclaimed and then snorted uncharacteristically, "Henry always was impatient. Nan, do you think that I'll be invited to the wedding? How wonderfully exciting that would be! I don't think that I'd be able to contain my _happiness_ for the bubbling couple! All of England must certainly be rejoicing; the whore is banished and the _virginal_ Jane Seymour is Queen! I wonder if the Queen knows how to write her name…? There are rumours she doesn't, you know."

Anne was laughing hysterically now, her sarcasm and the adrenaline she received from it served as the perfect antidote for her depression. She was speaking dangerous things, things that could easily be construed as treason, but she found it difficult to make herself care. The King would never dare to touch her now, not after his people had threatened to kill him if he did. She was invincible and _that_ was a thought she relished in.

"My Lady, please," Nan implored, "hush yourself! If someone were to hear you, they might think you mad and deem you unfit to oversee your daughter. And you! You'd been sent to one of those houses…"

Anne's adrenaline slowly seeped out of her; her melancholy returned with every unit of adrenaline lost. She was once again dull and felt lifeless. The carriage suddenly became tight and menacing. She could not move properly and the muscles in her legs were constricting painfully. She couldn't breathe and she wanted nothing more than to be out of the carriage.

"Nan, I can't breathe," she stated, trying to remain calm and pretend that there was no panic seeping through her voice. "I need to get out of the carriage. I can't breathe. Nan!"

Nan banged hard on the roof of the carriage, signaling the driver to stop. When the carriage finally did, Anne bolted out of the carriage door. The Royal Guards that accompanied the carriage drew quickly around her, forming something akin to a cage of horses.

"My Lady, you must stop! You are commanded by the King to journey to Pembroke Castle. You must return to the carriage at once!"

She turned to the guard who had spoken and said, "My Lord, I apologise. I have no intention of running, but I desperately need to stretch my legs and catch my breath. It is often very cramped and stuffy in a carriage, after all."

"Very well, My Lady," the guard conceded sympathetically, and Anne wondered if he too needed to stretch his legs out after having been on a horse for so long a time. "We shall take a few minutes to walk the cramps out of our legs."

"Thank you, sir," Anne smiled slightly and then she began to pace slowly back and forth beside the carriage. Almost instantly, the vacant road they were traveling down caught her attention and she could not help but stop and peer down the trail with wonder. The dirt road outstretched for miles before them, a sight Anne interpreted to be a symbol of life itself. The road was never fully straight for long and Anne was sure there were plenty of holes to cause bumps along their journey. If they were unlucky, Anne knew that there could very well be a tree down and blocking their way, a direct result of a recent storm that wreaked havoc upon the feeble road. Their journey would be paused so that the men could move the tree out of the way. Depending on the size of the tree, that _could_ potentially take hours, but they could always, of course, simply find a way around the fallen tree.

Was this the same for the way of life, then? Whenever you encounter problems you simply move them out of the way or go around them? Anne found it difficult to believe that way of thinking but it seemed to be the King's view of life, in any case.

* * *

><p><em>May 22, 1536<em>

Anne had dozed off into a restless sleep when the carriage suddenly came to a sharp stop. Her eyes snapped open, acutely aware what the carriage's abrupt halt meant.

They had arrived.

A sense of anxiety overwhelmed Anne; what could she expect to find when the carriage doors opened and revealed her prison? The Princess Dowager of Wales had been given lodgings that would not have been sufficient for a knight; what kind of Hell would a "traitor" and a "whore" be given?

She could hear the sounds of servants gathering outside of the carriage and of orders being shouted. In an unusual reaction, Anne's palms became uncomfortably clammy. With little warning, the door to the carriage opened and the guard that allowed Anne to stretch her legs appeared through the opening. He outstretched his hand to help Nan and Madge out of the carriage, assistance they were glad to accept.

Once Nan and Madge were out of the carriage and had busied themselves with adjusting their gowns, the guard offered his hand to Anne, announcing, "My Lady Pembroke, we have arrived at your Welsh estate."

"Thank you, My Lord," she responded and then, exercising only a slight amount of hesitation, Anne took his hand firmly and gathered her skirts in her free hand, so as not to disgrace herself by tripping as she exited the confines of the carriage. When her feet were planted safely on the ground she began to carefully arrange her skirts, shaking out any crinkles that had resulted from her time in the carriage. Only after she was sure that she appeared every bit the regal woman she wanted to display did Anne look up to the servants who had gathered to greet her and the area in which they had gathered.

Like most castles and estates of high-ranking peerage, the outer walls of Pembroke Castle protected a little hamlet made up of the buildings necessary for the castle's upkeep. The servants blocked much of her view of the little buildings and the servants themselves looked just as she had expected they would. They neither smiled nor glared at her, but instead peered at her curiously, as if they were trying to formulate their opinion of her-as if they were trying to determine if it could be possible for their new mistress to be as iniquitous as had been proclaimed.

It was strange but relieving for Anne to realize that she did not care what their opinions of her were; all Anne truly cared about now was returning Elizabeth to the King's good and fickle graces and raising their daughter with her own mistakes in the forefront of her mind. She would ensure that Elizabeth was better prepared for courtlife than she apparently had been.

The Royal Guards did not allow Anne and her ladies much time to dawdle in the courtyard and ushered them indoors almost immediately. Anne, Nan, and Madge were directed into the Entrance Hall where a portly woman waited, standing anxiously in the centre. A man who appeared to be the exact opposite of her accompanied the woman. Where the woman was short and pudgy, the man was tall and thin. She looked kind and happy to have the opportunity to serve a woman of such high standing, even if the noblewoman was in exile. The man, however, appeared stern and unforgiving, his demeanor saying that Anne's presence before him was more of a burden than an honour.

The woman and man curtseyed and bowed respectively and then the man drawled out his salutations to her in a dry voice, "Welcome, My Lady, to Pembroke Castle. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cecil Williams, and this is my wife Elinor."

His introduction was not needed; Anne had already been told that she was to be put under the care of Lord Cecil Williams, the Baron Cleddau. It had annoyed her that her jailors, for that's what Cecil and Elinor really were—no matter what the King tried to pretend, were below her in station, but she assumed that the His Majesty had arranged it to be so. He had a habit of not being courteous to his ex-wives.

"Now, if you please, My Lady, my wife will lead you to your chambers," he concluded, taking his leave of her with a nod and disappearing down a nearby corridor.

Lady Elinor Williams, the Baroness Cleddau gave Anne a hearty smile and gestured down the opposite corridor and up a set of stairs, "This way, My Lady."

Anne followed the woman to her chambers, which were boasted at the end of the second floor hallway. When they entered the antechamber, Anne was pleased to discover that its condition was satisfactory. Apparently, the servants of Pembroke Castle prided themselves with a clean and well-kept estate.

"Is everything to your liking, ma'am?" the Baroness said quietly, taking stock of Anne's emotions.

"Yes, Lady Cleddau. Thank you," Anne replied and then stated, "I'll dine alone in my rooms tonight. Will you inform the appropriate people?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll do that right away," Lady Cleddau quipped instantly and then exited the room, leaving Anne alone with Madge and Nan.

Nan offered her a small smile, "It's not all bad."

"Indeed," Anne replied, peering out the window and noticing she had a view of the river she had been told was also called Cleddau. "It could have been much worse."

* * *

><p><em>May 26, 1536<em>

Initially, she paid her ailments little heed. It had been a difficult year thus far and it was well known that too much stress often threw one's humours off. But now that Elizabeth had joined her at Pembroke, something needed to be done. If Anne was genuinely ill, she couldn't risk infecting her daughter, who was still so young and could not fight off contagion as well as adults could.

It was for that reason that Anne asked Lady Cleddau to summon a physician to examine her.

Anne was terrified of what the physician would say. After everything, it would be immensely ironic if she had a fatal illness. Henry would certainly be pleased that he no longer had his whore of an ex-wife to deal with. The thought did cross Anne's mind numerous times that perhaps he or his bride-to-be's ambitious family had arranged for her to be poisoned.

Her fear of poisoning had escalated in the Tower and even more since her arrival at Pembroke. It would be very convenient for the Seymours if Anne died while in exile. The public may have risen up to protect her when Henry attempted to kill her, but they could do nothing if she suddenly died of an unexplained illness. True, they could whisper and speculate, but it would make no difference.

At first, Anne thought that she would not care if she were poisoned, but now she was convinced otherwise. Elizabeth's arrival at Pembroke Castle with Lady Bryan had certainly changed things. After her father's betrayal, Elizabeth needed her mother and Anne couldn't afford to be ripped from her daughter for a second time. Anne could not afford such self-deprecating thoughts to plague her.

The physician's diagnosis had shocked her.

"My Lady, it would seem that you are with child."

Anne, who had been sitting on her lush bed so that the physician might properly examine her, jumped instantly to her feet. The room became an unforgiving blur and she had to place a hand upon the bedpost to steady herself as the world spun around her. _With child?_ How could she possibly be with child? It had been months since she had shared a bed with the King; if she was pregnant, surely she would have noticed it before now. And yet, though her mind tried desperately to reject the idea, it made sense.

Belatedly, she realized she would not have pieced the early signs of pregnancy together, if only because many signs of pregnancy were shared with extreme stress.

Oh, how this complicated matters.

A floodgate opened and a wealth of emotion erupted within Anne—shock, trepidation, perhaps a bit of excitement and then…anger.

She had not been examined when she arrived at the Tower. It was required that all female prisoners be examined by a team of midwives; it was not proper to execute a pregnant woman. But no midwives had come to her. It had not occurred to her before now, but now that it did a fury like no other erupted from deep within. Had this been a calculated move by the King? Had His Majesty, knowing that it had not been _too_ long since he had last bedded his wife, been fearful that Anne could be pregnant and ruin his quest to be rid of her?

Could the man she had loved so adamantly for so long really have been so careless…so heartless?

With a heavy heart, Anne was forced to admit that she believed he could. If he was willing to murder a wife to marry another, why should he not be willing to potentially murder his unborn child as well?

"Thank you, Dr. Lowthe," Anne finally said, struggling to keep her voice even. "You may go now."

She needed to be alone. She needed to think-to breathe. This pregnancy complicated matters and she needed to be careful how she went about handling it. Anne was not sure she wanted to tell the King, but she knew that incorrect assumptions would be made after the babe's birth if she didn't. Elizabeth would have to be told eventually-even a two year old would notice her mother's rapidly expanding waistline.

Unconsciously, Anne rested a hand upon her belly; she had not yet gained the visual proof that she was with child, but she still felt a yearning for the unborn baby. While she was uncertain about many things regarding her pregnancy, she could not bring herself to not be at least a little excited. The child might be considered a bastard in the eyes of its father and the rest of the country but that did not inhibit the baby's right to be celebrated.

Anne tried once again to convince herself that God would not present her with more troubles than she could possibly handle and that everything would be okay. It would have to be.


End file.
